m.  JR.*    .  A  MMMMMw  m        ^B&  A 

NOTES 


KIPLING 


/  / 


AMERICAN   NOTES 


J 


American  Notes 


BY 
RUDYARD    KIPLING 

With  Introduction 


BOSTON 
BROWN    AND   COMPANY 

378  BOYLSTON  STREET 
1899 


Copyright,  1899, 
BY  BROWN  AND  COMPANY. 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


Introduction 

TN  an  issue  of  the  London  World  in  April,  1890, 
-*•  there  appeared  the  following  paragraph  :  "  Two 
small  rooms  connected  by  a  tiny  hall  afford  suf- 
ficient space  to  contain  Mr.  Rudyard  Kipling,  the 
literary  hero  of  the  present  hour,  cthe  man  who 
came  from  nowhere,'  as  he  says  himself,  and  who 
a  year  ago  was  consciously  nothing  in  the  literary 
world." 

Six  months  previous  to  this  Mr.  Kipling,  then 
but  twenty-four  years  old,  had  arrived  in  England 
from  India  to  find  that  fame  had  preceded  him. 
He  had  already  gained  fame  in  India,  where  scores 
of  cultured  and  critical  people,  after  reading  "  De- 
partmental Ditties,"  "  Plain  Tales  from  the  Hills," 
and  various  other  stones  and  verses,  had  stamped 
him  for  a  genius. 

Fortunately  for  everybody  who  reads,  London 
interested  and  stimulated  Mr.  Kipling,  and  he 
settled  down  to  writing.  "  The  Record  of  Ba- 
dalia  Herodsfoot,"  and  his  first  novel,  "  The  Light 


6  Introduction 

that  Failed,"  appeared  in  1890  and  1891 ;  then  a 
collection  of  verse,  "  Life's  Handicap,  being  stories 
of  Mine  Own  People,"  was  published  simultane- 
ously in  London  and  New  York  City;  then  fol- 
lowed more  verse,  and  so  on  through  an  unending 
series. 

In  1891  Mr.  Kipling  met  the  young  author 
Wolcott  Balestier,  at  that  time  connected  with  a 
London  publishing  house.  A  strong  attachment 
grew  between  the  two,  and  several  months  after 
their  first  meeting  they  came  to  Mr.  Balestier's 
Vermont  home,  where  they  collaborated  on  u  The 
Naulahka  :  A  Story  of  West  and  East,"  for  which 
The  Century  paid  the  largest  price  ever  given  by 
an  American  magazine  for  a  story.  The  follow- 
ing year  Mr.  Kipling  married  Mr.  Balestier's 
sister  in  London  and  brought  her  to  America. 

The  Balestiers  were  of  an  aristocratic  New 
York  family ;  the  grandfather  of  Mrs.  Kipling 
was  J.  M.  Balestier,  a  prominent  lawyer  in  New 
York  City  and  Chicago,  who  died  in  1888,  leaving 
a  fortune  of  about  a  million.  Her  maternal  grand- 
father was  E.  Peshine  Smith  of  Rochester,  N.  Y., 
a  noted  author  and  jurist,  who  was  selected  in 
1871  by  Secretary  Hamilton  Fish  to  go  to  Japan 
as  the  Mikado's  adviser  in  international  law.  The 


Introduction  7 

ancestral  home  of  the  Balestiers  was  near  Brattle- 
boro',  Vt.,  and  here  Mr.  Kipling  brought  his  bride. 
The  young  Englishman  was  so  impressed  by  the 
Vermont  scenery  that  he  rented  for  a  time  the 
cottage  on  the  "  Bliss  Farm/'  in  which  Steele 
Mackaye  the  playwright  wrote  the  well  known 
drama  "Hazel  Kirke." 

The  next  spring  Mr.  Kipling  purchased  from 
his  brother-in-law,  Beatty  Balestier,  a  tract  of  land 
about  three  miles  north  of  Brattleboro',  Vt.,  and  on 
this  erected  a  house  at  a  cost  of  nearly  $50,000, 
which  he  named  u  The  Naulahka."  This  was  his 
home  during  his  sojourn  in  America.  Here  he 
wrote  when  in  the  mood,  and  for  recreation 
tramped  abroad  over  the  hills.  His  social  duties 
at  this  period  were  not  arduous,  for  to  his  home  he 
refused  admittance  to  all  but  tried  friends.  He 
made  a  study  of  the  Yankee  country  dialect  and 
character  for  uThe  Walking  Delegate,"  and  while 
"  Captains  Courageous,"  the  story  of  New  Eng- 
land fisher  life,  was  before  him  he  spent  some  time 
among  the  Gloucester  fishermen  with  an  acquaint- 
ance who  had  access  to  the  household  gods  of 
these  people. 

He  returned  to  England  in  August,  1896,  and 
did  not  visit  America  again  till  1899,  when  he 


8  Introduction 

came  with  his  wife  and  three  children  for  a  limited 
time. 

It  is  hardly  fair  to  Mr.  Kipling  to  call  "  Ameri- 
can Notes  "  first  impressions,  for  one  reading  them 
will  readily  see  that  the  impressions  are  superficial, 
little  thought  being  put  upon  the  writing.  They 
seem  supersarcastic,  and  would  lead  one  to  believe 
that  Mr.  Kipling  is  antagonistic  to  America  in 
every  respect.  This,  however,  is  not  true.  These 
"  Notes "  aroused  much  protest  and  severe  criti- 
cism when  they  appeared  in  1891,  and  are  consid- 
ered so  far  beneath  Mr.  Kipling's  real  work  that 
they  have  been  nearly  suppressed  and  are  rarely 
found  in  a  list  of  his  writings.  Their  very  caus- 
tic style  is  of  interest  to  a  student  and  lover  of 
Kipling,  and  for  this  reason  the  publishers  believe 
them  worthy  of  a  good  binding. 

G.  P.  T. 


Contents 


PAGE 

AT  THE  GOLDEN   GATE 1 1 

AMERICAN  POLITICS 35 

AMERICAN  SALMON ej 

THE  YELLOWSTONE 74 

CHICAGO 01 

THE  AMERICAN  ARMY 109 

AMERICA'S  DEFENCELESS  COASTS 119 


I 

At  the  Golden  Gate 
9 

"  Serene,  indifferent  to  fate, 
.Thou  sittest  at  the  Western  Gate; 
Thou  seest  the  white  seas  fold  their  tents, 
Oh,  warder  of  two  continents; 
Thou  drawest  all  things,  small  and  great, 
To  thee,  beside  the  Western  Gate." 

'"T'VHIS  is  what  Bret  Harte  has  written  of  the 
•*-  great  city  of  San  Francisco,  and  for  the 
past  fortnight  I  have  been  wondering  what  made 
him  do  it. 

There  is  neither  serenity  nor  indifference  to  be 
found  in  these  parts ;  and  evil  would  it  be  for  the 
continents  whose  wardship  were  intrusted  to  so 
reckless  a  guardian. 

Behold  me  pitched  neck-and-crop  from  twenty 
days  of  the  high  seas  into  the  whirl  of  California, 
deprived  of  any  guidance,  and  left  to  draw  my 
own  conclusions.  Protect  me  from  the  wrath 
of  an  outraged  community  if  these  letters  be  ever 


12  American  Notes 

read  by  American  eyes  !  San  Francisco  is  a  mad 
city  —  inhabited  for  the  most  part  by  perfectly 
insane  people,  whose  women  are  of  a  remarkable 
beauty. 

When  the  "  City  of  Pekin  "  steamed  through 
the  Golden  Gate,  I  saw  with  great  joy  that  the 
block-house  which  guarded  the  mouth  of  the 
"  finest  harbor  in  the  world,  sir,"  could  be  silenced 
by  two  gunboats  from  Hong  Kong  with  safety, 
comfort,  and  despatch.  Also,  there  was  not  a 
single  American  vessel  of  war  in  the  harbor. 

This  may  sound  bloodthirsty ;  but  remember,  I 
had  come  with  a  grievance  upon  me  —  the  griev- 
ance of  the  pirated  English  books. 

Then  a  reporter  leaped  aboard,  and  ere  I  could 
gasp  held  me  in  his  toils.  He  pumped  me  ex- 
haustively while  I  was  getting  ashore,  demanding 
of  all  things  in  the  world  news  about  Indian 
journalism.  It  is  an  awful  thing  to  enter  a  new 
land  with  a  new  lie  on  your  lips.  I  spoke  the 
truth  to  the  evil-minded  Custom  House  man  who 
turned  my  most  sacred  raiment  on  a  floor  com- 
posed of  stable  refuse  and  pine  splinters  ;  but  the 
reporter  overwhelmed  me  not  so  much  by  his 
poignant  audacity  as  his  beautiful  ignorance.  I 
am  sorry  now  that  I  did  not  tell  him  more  lies  as 


At  the  Golden  Gate  1 3 

I  passed  into  a  city  of  three  hundred  thousand 
white  men.  Think  of  it !  Three  hundred  thou- 
sand white  men  and  women  gathered  in  one  spot, 
walking  upon  real  pavements  in  front  of  plate- 
glass-windowed  shops,  and  talking  something  that 
at  first  hearing  was  not  very  different  from  Eng- 
lish. It  was  only  when  I  had  tangled  myself  up 
in  a  hopeless  maze  of  small  wooden  houses,  dust, 
street  refuse,  and  children  who  played  with  empty 
kerosene  tins,  that  I  discovered  the  difference  of 
speech. 

"  You  want  to  go  to  the  Palace  Hotel  ? "  said 
an  affable  youth  on  a  dray.  "What  in  hell  are 
you  doing  here,  then  ?  This  is  about  the  lowest 
ward  in  the  city.  Go  six  blocks  north  to  corner 
of  Geary  and  Markey,  then  walk  around  till  you 
strike  corner  of  Gutter  and  Sixteenth,  and  that 
brings  you  there.*' 

I  do  not  vouch  for  the  literal  accuracy  of  these 
directions,  quoting  but  from  a  disordered  memory. 

"Amen,"  I  said.  "But  who  am  I  that  I 
should  strike  the  corners  of  such  as  you  name  ? 
Peradventure  they  be  gentlemen  of  repute,  and 
might  hit  back.  Bring  it  down  to  dots,  my  son." 

I  thought  he  would  have  smitten  me,  but  he 
did  n't.  He  explained  that  no  one  ever  used  the 


14  American  Notes 

word  "  street,"  and  that  every  one  was  supposed  to 
know  how  the  streets  ran,  for  sometimes  the  names 
were  upon  the  lamps  and  sometimes  they  were  n't. 
Fortified  with  these  directions,  I  proceeded  till  I 
found  a  mighty  street,  full  of  sumptuous  buildings 
four  and  five  stories  high,  but  paved  with  rude 
cobblestones,  after  the  fashion  of  the  year  i. 

Here  a  tram-car,  without  any  visible  means  of 
support,  slid  stealthily  behind  me  and  nearly  struck 
me  in  the  back.  This  was  the  famous  cable  car 
of  San  Francisco,  which  runs  by  gripping  an  endless 
wire  rope  sunk  in  the  ground,  and  of  which  I  will 
tell  you  more  anon.  A  hundred  yards  further 
there  was  a  slight  commotion  in  the  street,  a  gath- 
ering together  of  three  or  four,  something  that 
glittered  as  it  moved  very  swiftly.  A  ponderous 
Irish  gentleman,  with  priest's  cords  in  his  hat  and 
a  small  nickel-plated  badge  on  his  fat  bosom, 
emerged  from  the  knot  supporting  a  Chinaman 
who  had  been  stabbed  in  the  eye  and  was  bleeding 
like  a  pig.  The  by-standers  went  their  ways,  and 
the  Chinaman,  assisted  by  the  policeman,  his  own. 
Of  course  this  was  none  of  my  business,  but  I 
rather  wanted  to  know  what  had  happened  to  the 
gentleman  who  had  dealt  the  stab.  It  said  a  great 
deal  for  the  excellence  of  the  municipal  arrange- 


At  the  Golden  Gate  1 5 

ment  of  the  town  that  a  surging  crowd  did  not  at 
once  block  the  street  to  see  what  was  going  for- 
ward. I  was  the  sixth  man  and  the  last  who 
assisted  at  the  performance,  and  my  curiosity  was 
six  times  the  greatest.  Indeed,  I  felt  ashamed  of 
showing  it. 

There  were  no  more  incidents  till  I  reached  the 
Palace  Hotel,  a  seven-storied  warren  of  humanity 
with  a  thousand  rooms  in  it.  All  the  travel  books 
will  tell  you  about  hotel  arrangements  in  this 
country.  They  should  be  seen  to  be  appreciated. 
Understand  clearly  —  and  this  letter  is  written 
after  a  thousand  miles  of  experiences  —  that 
money  will  not  buy  you  service  in  the  West. 
When  the  hotel  clerk  —  the  man  who  awards  your 
room  to  you  and  who  is  supposed  to  give  you  infor- 
mation —  when  that  resplendent  individual  stoops  to 
attend  to  your  wants  he  does  so  whistling  or  hum- 
ming or  picking  his  teeth,  or  pauses  to  converse 
with  some  one  he  knows.  These  performances,  I 
gather,  are  to  impress  upon  you  that  he  is  a  free 
man  and  your  equal.  From  his  general  appearance 
and  the  size  of  his  diamonds  he  ought  to  be  your 
superior.  There  is  no  necessity  for  this  swagger- 
ing self-consciousness  of  freedom.  Business  is 
business,  and  the  man  who  is  paid  to  attend  to  a 


1 6  American  Notes 

man  might  reasonably  devote  his  whole  attention 
to  the  job.  Out  of  office  hours  he  can  take  his 
coach  and  four  and  pervade  society  if  he  pleases. 

In  a  vast  marble-paved  hall,  under  the  glare  of 
an  electric  light,  sat  forty  or  fifty  men,  and  for 
their  use  and  amusement  were  provided  spittoons 
of  infinite  capacity  and  generous  gape.  Most  of 
the  men  wore  frock-coats  and  top-hats  —  the 
things  that  we  in  India  put  on  at  a  wedding-break- 
fast, if  we  possess  them  —  but  they  all  spat.  They 
spat  on  principle.  The  spittoons  were  on  the 
staircases,  in  each  bedroom  —  yea,  and  in  chambers 
even  more  sacred  than  these.  They  chased  one 
into  retirement,  but  they  blossomed  in  chiefest 
splendor  round  the  bar,  and  they  were  all  used, 
every  reeking  one  of  them. 

Just  before  I  began  to  feel  deathly  sick  another 
reporter  grappled  me.  What  he  wanted  to  know 
was  the  precise  area  of  India  in  square  miles.  I 
referred  him  to  Whittaker.  He  had  never  heard 
of  Whittaker.  He  wanted  it  from  my  own 
mouth,  and  I  would  not  tell  him.  Then  he 
swerved  off,  just  like  the  other  man,  to  details  of 
journalism  in  our  own  country.  I  ventured  to 
suggest  that  the  interior  economy  of  a  paper  most 
concerned  the  people  who  worked  it. 


At  the  Golden  Gate  17 

"  That 's  the  very  thing  that  interests  us,"  he 
said.  u  Have  you  got  reporters  anything  like  our 
reporters  on  Indian  newspapers  ?  " 

"  We  have  not,"  I  said,  and  suppressed  the 
"  thank  God  "  rising  to  my  lips. 

u  Why  have  n't  you  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Because  they  would  die,"  I  said. 

It  was  exactly  like  talking  to  a  child  —  a  very 
rude  little  child.  He  would  begin  almost  every 
sentence  with,  u  Now  tell  me  something  about 
India,"  and  would  turn  aimlessly  from  one  ques- 
tion to  the  other  without  the  least  continuity.  I 
was  not  angry,  but  keenly  interested.  The  man 
was  a  revelation  to  me.  To  his  questions  I  re- 
turned answers  mendacious  and  evasive.  After 
all,  it  really  did  not  matter  what  I  said.  He 
could  not  understand.  I  can  only  hope  and  pray 
that  none  of  the  readers  of  the  "  Pioneer "  will 
ever  see  that  portentous  interview.  The  man 
made  me  out  to  be  an  idiot  several  sizes  more 
drivelling  than  my  destiny  intended,  and  the  rank- 
ness  of  his  ignorance  managed  to  distort  the  few 
poor  facts  with  which  I  supplied  him  into  large 
and  elaborate  lies.  Then,  thought  I,  "  the  matter 
of  American  journalism  shall  be  looked  into  later 
on.  At  present  I  will  enjoy  myself." 


1 8  American  Notes 

No  man  rose  to  tell  me  what  were  the  lions  of 
the  place.  No  one  volunteered  any  sort  of  con- 
veyance. I  was  absolutely  alone  in  this  big  city 
of  white  folk.  By  instinct  I  sought  refreshment, 
and  came  upon  a  bar-room  full  of  bad  Salon 
pictures  in  which  men  with  hats  on  the  backs  of 
their  heads  were  wolfing  food  from  a  counter. 
It  was  the  institution  of  the  "  free  lunch  "  I  had 
struck.  You  paid  for  a  drink  and  got  as  much 
as  you  wanted  to  eat.  For  something  less  than 
a  rupee  a  day  a  man  can  feed  himself  sumptuously 
in  San  Francisco,  even  though  he  be  a  bankrupt. 
Remember  this  if  ever  you  are  stranded  in  these 
parts. 

Later  I  began  a  vast  but  unsystematic  explora- 
tion of  the  streets.  I  asked  for  no  names.  It 
was  enough  that  the  pavements  were  full  of  white 
men  and  women,  the  streets  clanging  with  traffic, 
and  that  the  restful  roar  of  a  great  city  rang  in 
my  ears.  The  cable  cars  glided  to  all  points  of 
the  compass  at  once.  I  took  them  one  by  one 
till  I  could  go  no  further.  San  Francisco  has 
been  pitched  down  on  the  sand  bunkers  of  the 
Bikaneer  desert.  About  one  fourth  of  it  is 
ground  reclaimed  from  the  sea  —  any  old-timers 
will  tell  you  all  about  that.  The  remainder  is 


At  the  Golden  Gate  1 9 

just    ragged,  unthrifty    sand    hills,  to-day   pegged 
down  by  houses. 

From  an  English  point  of  view  there  has  not 
been  the  least  attempt  at  grading  those  hills,  and 
indeed  you  might  as  well  try  to  grade  the  hillocks 
of  Sind.  The  cable  cars  have  for  all  practical 
purposes  made  San  Francisco  a  dead  level.  They 
take  no  count  of  rise  or  fall,  but  slide  equably  on 
their  appointed  courses  from  one  end  to  the  other 
of  a  six-mile  street.  They  turn  corners  almost 
at  right  angles,  cross  other  lines,  and  for  aught  I 
know  may  run  up  the  sides  of  houses.  There 
is  no  visible  agency  of  their  flight,  but  once  in 
awhile  you  shall  pass  a  five-storied  building  hum- 
ming with  machinery  that  winds  up  an  everlasting 
wire  cable,  and  the  initiated  will  tell  you  that  here 
is  the  mechanism.  I  gave  up  asking  questions. 
If  it  pleases  Providence  to  make  a  car  run  up  and 
down  a  slit  in  the  ground  for  many  miles,  and  if 
for  twopence  halfpenny  I  can  ride  in  that  car, 
why  shall  I  seek  the  reasons  of  the  miracle  ? 
Rather  let  me  look  out  of  the  windows  till  the 
shops  give  place  to  thousands  and  thousands  of 
little  houses  made  of  wood  (to  imitate  stone),  each 
house  just  big  enough  for  a  man  and  his  family. 
Let  me  watch  the  people  in  the  cars  and  try  to 


20  American  Notes 

find  out  in  what  manner  they  differ  from  us,  their 
ancestors. 

It  grieves  me  now  that  I  cursed  them  (in  the 
matter  of  book  piracy),  because  I  perceived  that 
my  curse  is  working  and  that  their  speech  is  be- 
coming a  horror  already.  They  delude  them- 
selves into  the  belief  that  they  talk  English  —  the 
English — and  I  have  already  been  pitied  for 
speaking  with  "  an  English  accent."  The  man 
who  pitied  me  spoke,  so  far  as  I  was  con- 
cerned, the  language  of  thieves.  And  they  all  do. 
Where  we  put  the  accent  forward  they  throw  it 
back,  and  vice  versa;  where  we  give  the  long 
"  a  "  they  use  the  short,  and  words  so  simple  as 
to  be  past  mistaking  they  pronounce  somewhere 
up  in  the  dome  of  their  heads.  How  do  these 
things  happen  ? 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  says  that  the  Yankee 
school-marm,  the  cider  and  the  salt  codfish  of  the 
Eastern  States,  are  responsible  for  what  he  calls 
a  nasal  accent.  I  know  better.  They  stole 
books  from  across  the  water  without  paying  for 
'em,  and  the  snort  of  delight  was  fixed  in  their 
nostrils  forever  by  a  just  Providence.  That  is 
why  they  talk  a  foreign  tongue  to-day. 

"  Cats  is  dogs,  and  rabbits  is    dogs,   and  so 's 


At  the  Golden  Gate  2 1 

parrots.  But  this  'ere  tortoise  is  an  insect,  so 
there  ain't  no  charge,"  as  the  old  porter  said. 

A  Hindoo  is  a  Hindoo  and  a  brother  to  the 
man  who  knows  his  vernacular.  And  a  French- 
man is  French  because  he  speaks  his  own  lan- 
guage. But  the  American  has  no  language.  He 
is  dialect,  slang,  provincialism,  accent,  and  so 
forth.  Now  that  I  have  heard  their  voices,  all 
the  beauty  of  Bret  Harte  is  being  ruined  for  me, 
because  I  find  myself  catching  through  the  roll  of 
his  rhythmical  prose  the  cadence  of  his  peculiar 
fatherland.  Get  an  American  lady  to  read  to  you 
"  How  Santa  Glaus  Came  to  Simpson's  Bar,"  and 
see  how  much  is,  under  her  tongue,  left  of  the 
beauty  of  the  original. 

But  I  am  sorry  for  Bret  Harte.  It  happened 
this  way.  A  reporter  asked  me  what  I  thought 
of  the  city,  and  I  made  answer  suavely  that  it  was 
hallowed  ground  to  me,  because  of  Bret  Harte. 
That  was  true. 

"  Well,"  said  the  reporter,  "Bret  Harte  claims 
California,  but  California  don't  claim  Bret  Harte. 
He's  been  so  long  in  England  that  he's  quite 
English.  Have  you  seen  our  cracker  factories  or 
the  new  offices  of  the  c  Examiner '  ?  " 

He    could  not   understand  that  to  the   outside 


22  American  Notes 

world  the  city  was  worth  a  great  deal  less  than  the 
man.  I  never  intended  to  curse  the  people  with 
a  provincialism  so  vast  as  this. 

But  let  us  return  to  our  sheep  —  which  means 
the  sea-lions  of  the  Cliff  House.  They  are  the 
great  show  of  San  Francisco.  You  take  a  train 
which  pulls  up  the  middle  of  the  street  (it  killed 
two  people  the  day  before  yesterday,  being  un- 
braked  and  driven  absolutely  regardless  of  con- 
sequences), and  you  pull  up  somewhere  at  the  back 
of  the  city  on  the  Pacific  beach.  Originally  the 
cliffs  and  their  approaches  must  have  been  pretty, 
but  they  have  been  so  carefully  defiled  with  ad- 
vertisements that  they  are  now  one  big  blistered 
abomination.  A  hundred  yards  from  the  shore 
stood  a  big  rock  covered  with  the  carcasses  of  the 
sleek  sea-beasts,  who  roared  and  rolled  and  wal- 
loped in  the  spouting  surges.  No  bold  man  had 
painted  the  creatures  sky-blue  or  advertised  news- 
papers on  their  backs,  wherefore  they  did  not 
match  the  landscape,  which  was  chiefly  hoarding. 
Some  day,  perhaps,  whatever  sort  of  government 
may  obtain  in  this  country  will  make  a  restoration 
of  the  place  and  keep  it  clean  and  neat.  At 
present  the  sovereign  people,  of  whom  I  have 
heard  so  much  already,  are  vending  cherries  and 


At  the  Golden  Gate  23 

painting  the  virtues   of   "  Little    Bile  Beans  "  all 
over  it. 

Night  fell  over  the  Pacific,  and  the  white  sea- 
fog  whipped  through  the  streets,  dimming  the 
splendors  of  the  electric  lights.  It  is  the  use  of 
this  city,  her  men  and  women  folk,  to  parade 
between  the  hours  of  eight  and  ten  a  certain 
street  called  Kearney  Street,  where  the  finest  shops 
are  situated.  Here  the  click  of  high  heels  on  the 
pavement  is  loudest,  here  the  lights  are  brightest, 
and  here  the  thunder  of  the  traffic  is  most  over- 
whelming. I  watched  Young  California,  and  saw 
that  it  was,  at  least,  expensively  dressed,  cheerful 
in  manner,  and  self-asserting  in  conversation. 
Also  the  women  were  very  fair.  Perhaps  eight- 
een days  aboard  ship  had  something  to  do  with 
my  unreserved  admiration.  The  maidens  were 
of  generous  build,  large,  well  groomed,  and  attired 
in  raiment  that  even  to  my  inexperienced  eyes 
must  have  cost  much.  Kearney  Street  at  nine 
o'clock  levels  all  distinctions  of  rank  as  impartially 
as  the  grave.  Again  and  again  I  loitered  at  the 
heels  of  a  couple  of  resplendent  beings,  only  to 
overhear,  when  I  expected  the  level  voice  of  cul- 
ture, the  staccato  "  Sez  he,"  u  Sez  I  "  that  is  the 
mark  of  the  white  servant-girl  all  the  world  over. 


24  American  Notes 

This  was  depressing  because,  in  spite  of  all 
that  goes  to  the  contrary,  fine  feathers  ought  to 
make  fine  birds.  There  was  wealth  —  unlimited 
wealth  —  in  the  streets,  but  not  an  accent  that 
would  not  have  been  dear  at  fifty  cents.  Where- 
fore, revolving  in  my  mind  that  these  folk  were 
barbarians,  I  was  presently  enlightened  and  made 
aware  that  they  also  were  the  heirs  of  all  the  ages, 
and  civilized  after  all.  There  appeared  before  me  an 
affable  stranger  of  prepossessing  appearance,  with  a 
blue  and  an  innocent  eye.  Addressing  me  by  name, 
he  claimed  to  have  met  me  in  New  York,  at  the 
Windsor,  and  to  this  claim  I  gave  a  qualified  assent. 
I  did  not  remember  the  fact,  but  since  he  was  so 
certain  of  it,  why,  then —  I  waited  developments. 

"  And  what  did  you  think  of  Indiana  when  you 
came  through  ?  "  was  the  next  question. 

It  revealed  the  mystery  of  previous  acquaintance 
and  one  or  two  other  things.  With  reprehensible 
carelessness  my  friend  of  the  light-blue  eye  had 
looked  up  the  name  of  his  victim  in  the  hotel 
register,  and  read  "  Indiana  "  for  India. 

The  provincialism  with  which  I  had  cursed  his 
people  extended  to  himself.  He  could  not  imagine 
an  Englishman  coming  through  the  States  from 
west  to  east  instead  of  by  the  regularly  ordained 


At  the  Golden  Gate  25 

route.  My  fear  was  that  in  his  delight  in  finding 
me  so  responsive,  he  would  make  remarks  about 
New  York  and  the  Windsor  which  I  could  not 
understand.  And,  indeed,  he  adventured  in  this 
direction  once  or  twice,  asking  me  what  I  thought 
of  such  and  such  streets,  which  from  his  tone  I 
gathered  to  be  anything  but  respectable.  It  is 
trying  to  talk  unknown  New  York  in  almost  un- 
known San  Francisco.  But  my  friend  was  merci- 
ful. He  protested  that  I  was  one  after  his  own 
heart,  and  pressed  upon  me  rare  and  curious  drinks 
at  more  than  one  bar.  These  drinks  I  accepted 
with  gratitude,  as  also  the  cigars  with  which  his 
pockets  were  stored.  He  would  show  me  the  life 
of  the  city.  Having  no  desire  to  watch  a  weary 
old  play  again,  I  evaded  the  offer  and  received  in 
lieu  of  the  devil's  instruction  much  coarse  flattery. 
Curiously  constituted  is  the  soul  of  man.  Know- 
ing how  and  where  this  man  lied,  waiting  idly  for 
the  finale,!  was  distinctly  conscious,  as  he  bubbled 
compliments  in  my  ear,  of  soft  thrills  of  gratified 
pride  stealing  from  hat-rim  to  boot-heels.  I  was 
wise,  quoth  he  —  anybody  could  see  that  with  half 
an  eye;  sagacious,  versed  in  the  ways  of  the 
world,  an  acquaintance  to  be  desired  ;  one  who 
had  tasted  the  cup  of  life  with  discretion. 


26  American  Notes 

All  this  pleased  me,  and  in  a  measure  numbed 
the  suspicion  that  was  thoroughly  aroused.  Event- 
ually the  blue-eyed  one  discovered,  nay,  insisted, 
that  I  had  a  taste  for  cards  (this  was  clumsily 
worked  in,  but  it  was  my  fault,  for  in  that  I  met 
him  half-way  and  allowed  him  no  chance  of  good 
acting).  Hereupon  I  laid  my  head  upon  one  side 
and  simulated  unholy  wisdom,  quoting  odds  and 
ends  of  poker  talk,  all  ludicrously  misapplied. 
My  friend  kept  his  countenance  admirably,  and 
well  he  might,  for  five  minutes  later  we  arrived, 
always  by  the  purest  of  chance,  at  a  place  where 
we  could  play  cards  and  also  frivol  with  Louisiana 
State  Lottery  tickets.  Would  I  play  ? 

"  Nay,"  said  I, "  for  to  me  cards  have  neither 
meaning  nor  continuity;  but  let  us  assume  that  I 
am  going  to  play.  How  would  you  and  your 
friends  get  to  work  ?  Would  you  play  a  straight 
game,  or  make  me  drunk,  or  —  well,  the  fact  is, 
I  'm  a  newspaper  man,  and  I  'd  be  much  obliged 
if  you  'd  let  me  know  something  about  bunco 
steering." 

My  blue-eyed  friend  erected  himself  into  an 
obelisk  of  profanity.  He  cursed  me  by  his  gods 
—  the  right  and  left  bower ;  he  even  cursed  the 
very  good  cigars  he  had  given  me.  But,  the 


At  the  Golden  Gate  27 

storm  over,  he  quieted  down  and  explained.  I 
apologized  for  causing  him  to  waste  an  evening, 
and  we  spent  a  very  pleasant  time  together. 

Inaccuracy,  provincialism,  and  a  too  hasty  rush- 
ing to  conclusions,  were  the  rocks  that  he  had 
split  on,  but  he  got  his  revenge  when  he  said :  — 

"  How  would  I  play  with  you  ?  From  all  the 
poppy-cock  (Anglice  bosh)  you  talked  about  poker, 
I  'd  ha'  played  a  straight  game,  and  skinned  you. 
I  would  n't  have  taken  the  trouble  to  make  you 
drunk.  You  never  knew  anything  of  the  game, 
but  how  I  was  mistaken  in  going  to  work  on  you, 
makes  me  sick." 

He  glared  at  me  as  though  I  had  done  him  an 
injury.  To-day  I  know  how  it  is  that  year  after 
year,  week  after  week,  the  bunco  steerer,  who  is 
the  confidence  trick  and  the  card-sharper  man  of 
other  climes,  secures  his  prey.  He  clavers  them 
over  with  flattery  as  the  snake  clavers  the  rabbit. 
The  incident  depressed  me  because  it  showed  I 
had  left  the  innocent  East  far  behind  and  was 
come  to  a  country  where  a  man  must  look  out 
for  himself.  The  very  hotels  bristled  with  notices 
about  keeping  my  door  locked  and  depositing  my 
valuables  in  a  safe.  The  white  man  in  a  lump  is 
bad.  Weeping  softly  for  O-Toyo  (little  I  knew 


28  American  Notes 

then  that  my  heart  was  to  be  torn  afresh  from 
my  bosom)  I  fell  asleep  in  the  clanging  hotel. 

Next  morning  I  had  entered  upon  the  deferred 
inheritance.  There  are  no  princes  in  America  — 
at  least  with  crowns  on  their  heads  —  but  a  gen- 
erous-minded member  of  some  royal  family  re- 
ceived my  letter  of  introduction.  Ere  the  day 
closed  I  was  a  member  of  the  two  clubs,  and 
booked  for  many  engagements  to  dinner  and 
party.  Now,  this  prince,  upon  whose  financial 
operations  be  continual  increase,  had  no  reason, 
nor  had  the  others,  his  friends,  to  put  himself  out 
for  the  sake  of  one  Briton  more  or  less,  but  he 
rested  not  till  he  had  accomplished  all  in  my 
behalf  that  a  mother  could  think  of  for  her  debu- 
tante daughter. 

Do  you  know  the  Bohemian  Club  of  San 
Francisco  ?  They  say  its  fame  extends  over  the 
world.  It  was  created,  somewhat  on  the  lines  of 
the  Savage,  by  men  who  wrote  or  drew  things, 
and  has  blossomed  into  most  unrepublican  luxury. 
The  ruler  of  the  place  is  an  owl  —  an  owl  stand- 
ing upon  a  skull  and  cross-bones,  showing  forth 
grimly  the  wisdom  of  the  man  of  letters  and  the 
end  of  his  hopes  for  immortality.  The  owl  stands 
on  the  staircase,  a  statue  four  feet  high  j  is  carved 


At  the  Golden  Gate  29 

in  the  wood-work,  flutters  on  the  frescoed  ceiling, 
is  stamped  on  the  note-paper,  and  hangs  on  the 
walls.  He  is  an  ancient  and  honorable  bird. 
Under  his  wing  't  was  my  privilege  to  meet  with 
white  men  whose  lives  were  not  chained  down  to 
routine  of  toil,  who  wrote  magazine  articles  in- 
stead of  reading  them  hurriedly  in  the  pauses  of 
office-work,  who  painted  pictures  instead  of  con- 
tenting themselves  with  cheap  etchings  picked  up 
at  another  man's  sale  of  effects.  Mine  were  all 
the  rights  of  social  intercourse,  craft  by  craft,  that 
India,  stony-hearted  step-mother  of  collectors,  has 
swindled  us  out  of.  Treading  soft  carpets  and 
breathing  the  incense  of  superior  cigars,  I  wan- 
dered from  room  to  room  studying  the  paintings 
in  which  the  members  of  the  club  had  caricatured 
themselves,  their  associates,  and  their  aims. 
There  was  a  slick  French  audacity  about  the 
workmanship  of  these  men  of  toil  unbending  that 
went  straight  to  the  heart  of  the  beholder.  And 
yet  it  was  not  altogether  French.  A  dry  grimness 
of  treatment,  almost  Dutch,  marked  the  difference. 
The  men  painted  as  they  spoke  —  with  certainty. 
The  club  indulges  in  revelries  which  it  calls 
"  jinks  "  —  high  and  low,  at  intervals  —  and  each 
of  these  gatherings  is  faithfully  portrayed  in  oils 


30  American  Notes 

by  hands  that  know  their  business.  In  this  club 
were  no  amateurs  spoiling  canvas,  because  they 
fancied  they  could  handle  oils  without  knowledge 
of  shadows  or  anatomy  —  no  gentleman  of  leisure 
ruining  the  temper  of  publishers  and  an  already 
ruined  market  with  attempts  to  write,  "  because 
everybody  writes  something  these  days." 

My  hosts  were  working,  or  had  worked  for  their 
daily  bread  with  pen  or  paint,  and  their  talk  for  the 
most  part  was  of  the  shop  —  shoppy  —  that  is  to 
say,  delightful.  They  extended  a  large  hand  of 
welcome,  and  were  as  brethren,  and  I  did  homage 
to  the  owl  and  listened  to  their  talk.  An  Indian 
club  about  Christmas-time  will  yield,  if  properly 
worked,  an  abundant  harvest  of  queer  tales;  but 
at  a  gathering  of  Americans  from  the  uttermost 
ends  of  their  own  continent,  the  tales  are  larger, 
thicker,  more  spinous,  and  even  more  azure  than 
any  Indian  variety.  Tales  of  the  war  I  heard  told 
by  an  ex-officer  of  the  South  over  his  evening 
drink  to  a  colonel  of  the  Northern  army,  my 
introducer,  who  had  served  as  a  trooper  in  the 
Northern  Horse,  throwing  in  emendations  from 
time  to  time.  "  Tales  of  the  Law,"  which  in  this 
country  is  an  amazingly  elastic  affair,  followed 
from  the  lips  of  a  judge.  Forgive  me  for  re- 


At  the  Golden  Gate  3 1 

cording  one  tale  that  struck  me  as  new.  It  may 
interest  the  up-country  Bar  in  India. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  Samuelson,  a  young 
lawyer,  who  feared  not  God,  neither  regarded  the 
Bench.  (Name,  age,  and  town  of  the  man  were 
given  at  great  length.)  To  him  no  case  had  ever 
come  as  a  client,  partly  because  he  lived  in  a  dis- 
trict where  lynch  law  prevailed,  and  partly  because 
the  most  desperate*  prisoner  shrunk  from  intrusting 
himself  to  the  mercies  of  a  phenomenal  stammerer. 
But  in  time  there  happened  an  aggravated  murder 
—  so  bad,  indeed,  that  by  common  consent  the 
citizens  decided,  as  a  prelude  to  lynching,  to  give 
the  real  law  a  chance.  They  could,  in  fact,  gam- 
bol round  that  murder.  They  met  —  the  court  in 
its  shirt-sleeves  —  and  against  the  raw  square  of 
the  Court  House  window  a  temptingly  suggestive 
branch  of  a  tree  fretted  the  sky.  No  one  appeared 
for  the  prisoner,  and,  partly  in  jest,  the  court  ad- 
vised young  Samuelson  to  take  up  the  case. 

"The  prisoner  is  undefended,  Sam,"  said  the 
court.  u  The  square  thing  to  do  would  be  for  you 
to  take  him  aside  and  do  the  best  you  can  for  him." 

Court,  jury,  and  witness  then  adjourned  to  the 
veranda,  while  Samuelson  led  his  client  aside  to 
the  Court  House  cells.  An  hour  passed  ere  the 


32  American  Notes 

lawyer  returned  alone.  Mutely  the  audience 
questioned. 

"  May  it  p-p-please  the  c-court,"  said  Samuel- 
son,  u  my  client's  case  is  a  b-b-b-bad  one  —  a 
d-d-amn  bad  one.  You  told  me  to  do  the  b-b-best 
I  c-could  for  him,  judge,  so  I  've  jest  given  him 
y-your  b-b-bay  gelding,  an'  told  him  to  light  out 
for  healthier  c-climes,  my  p-p-professional  opinion 
being  he'd  be  hanged  quicker 'n  h-h-hades  if  he 
dallied  here.  B-by  this  time  my  client 's  'bout 
fifteen  mile  out  yonder  somewheres.  That  was 
the  b-b-best  I  could  do  for  him,  may  it  p-p-please 
the  court." 

The  young  man,  escaping  punishment  in  lieu  of 
the  prisoner,  made  his  fortune  ere  five  years. 

Other  voices  followed,  with  equally  wondrous 
tales  of  riata-throwing  in  Mexico  and  Arizona,  of 
gambling  at  army  posts  in  Texas,  of  newspaper 
wars  waged  in  godless  Chicago  (I  could  not  help 
being  interested,  but  they  were  not  pretty  tricks), 
of  deaths  sudden  and  violent  in  Montana  and 
Dakota,  of  the  loves  of  half-breed  maidens  in  the 
South,  and  fantastic  huntings  for  gold  in  mysteri- 
ous Alaska.  Above  all,  they  told  the  story  of  the 
building  of  old  San  Francisco,  when  the  "  finest 
collection  of  humanity  on  God's  earth,  sir,  started 


At  the  Golden  Gate  33 

this  town,  and  the  water  came  up  to  the  foot  of 
Market  Street."  Very  terrible  were  some  of  the 
tales,  grimly  humorous  the  others,  and  the  men 
in  broadcloth  and  fine  linen  who  told  them  had 
played  their  parts  in  them. 

"  And  now  and  again  when  things  got  too  bad 
they  would  toll  the  city  bell,  and  the  Vigilance 
Committee  turned  out  and  hanged  the  suspicious 
characters.  A  man  did  n't  begin  to  be  suspected 
in  those  days  till  he  had  committed  at  least  one 
unprovoked  murder,"  said  a  calm-eyed,  portly  old 
gentleman. 

I  looked  at  the  pictures  around  me,  the  noise- 
less, neat-uniformed  waiter  behind  me,  the  oak- 
ribbed  ceiling  above,  the  velvet  carpet  beneath.  It 
was  hard  to  realize  that  even  twenty  years  ago 
you  could  see  a  man  hanged  with  great  pomp. 
Later  on  I  found  reason  to  change  my  opinion. 
The  tales  gave  me  a  headache  and  set  me  think- 
ing. How  in  the  world  was  it  possible  to  take  in 
even  one  thousandth  of  this  huge,  roaring,  many- 
sided  continent?  In  the  tobacco-scented  silence 
of  the  sumptuous  library  lay  Professor  Bryce's 
book  on  the  American  Republic. 

"  It  is    an  omen,"  said  I.     u  He  has  done  all 
things  in  all  seriousness,  and  he  may  be  purchased 
3 


34  American  Notes 

for  half  a  guinea.  Those  who  desire  information 
of  the  most  undoubted,  must  refer  to  his  pages. 
For  me  is  the  daily  round  of  vagabondage,  the 
recording  of  the  incidents  of  the  hour  and  inter- 
course with  the  travelling-companion  of  the  day. 
I  will  not  c  do  '  this  country  at  all." 

And  I  forgot  all  about  India  for  ten  days  while 
I  went  out  to  dinners  and  watched  the  social  cus- 
toms of  the  people,  which  are  entirely  different 
from  our  customs,  and  was  introduced  to  men  of 
many  millions.  These  persons  are  harmless  in 
their  earlier  stages  —  that  is  to  say,  a  man  worth 
three  or  four  million  dollars  may  be  a  good  talker, 
clever,  amusing,  and  of  the  world ;  a  man  with 
twice  that  amount  is  to  be  avoided,  and  a  twenty 
million  man  is  — just  twenty  millions.  Take  an 
instance.  I  was  speaking  to  a  newspaper  man 
about  seeing  the  proprietor  of  his  journal,  as  in 
my  innocence  I  supposed  newspaper  men  occa- 
sionally did.  My  friend  snorted  indignantly :  — 

"  See  him  !  Great  Scott !  No.  If  he  hap- 
pens to  appear  in  the  office,  I  have  to  associate 
with  him  ;  but,  thank  Heaven !  outside  of  that  I 
move  in  circles  where  he  cannot  come." 

And  yet  the  first  thing  I  have  been  taught  to 
believe  is  that  money  was  everything  in  America  ! 


II 

American  Politics 


T  HAVE  been  watching  machinery  in  repose 
•*•  after  reading  about  machinery  in  action. 

An  excellent  gentleman,  who  bears  a  name 
honored  in  the  magazine,  writes,  much  as  Disraeli 
orated,  of  "the  sublime  instincts  of  an  ancient 
people,"  the  certainty  with  which  they  can  be 
trusted  to  manage  their  own  affairs  in  their  own 
way,  and  the  speed  with  which  they  are  making 
for  all  sorts  of  desirable  goals.  This  he  called  a 
statement  or  purview  of  American  politics. 

I  went  almost  directly  afterward  to  a  saloon 
where  gentlemen  interested  in  ward  politics  nightly 
congregate.  They  were  not  pretty  persons. 
Some  of  them  were  bloated,  and  they  all  swore 
cheerfully  till  the  heavy  gold  watch-chains  on 
their  fat  stomachs  rose  and  fell  again;  but  they 
talked  over  their  liquor  as  men  who  had  power  and 
unquestioned  access  to  places  of  trust  and  profit. 


36  American  Notes 

The  magazine  writer  discussed  theories  of 
government;  these  men  the  practice.  They  had 
been  there.  They  knew  all  about  it.  They 
banged  their  fists  on  the  table  and  spoke  of  politi- 
cal u  pulls,"  the  vending  of  votes,  and  so  forth. 
Theirs  was  not  the  talk  of  village  babblers  recon- 
structing the  affairs  of  the  nation,  but  of  strong, 
coarse,  lustful  men  fighting  for  spoil,  and  thoroughly 
understanding  the  best  methods  of  reaching  it. 

I  listened  long  and  intently  to  speech  I  could 
not  understand  —  or  but  in  spots. 

It  was  the  speech  of  business,  however.  I  had 
sense  enough  to  know  that,  and  to  do  my  laughing 
outside  the  door. 

Then  I  began  to  understand  why  my  pleasant 
and  well-educated  hosts  in  San  Francisco  spoke 
with  a  bitter  scorn  of  such  duties  of  citizenship  as 
voting  and  taking  an  interest  in  the  distribution  of 
offices.  Scores  of  men  have  told  me,  without  false 
pride,  that  they  would  as  soon  concern  themselves 
with  the  public  affairs  of  the  city  or  state  as  rake 
muck  with  a  steam-shovel.  It  may  be  that  their 
lofty  disdain  covers  selfishness,  but  I  should  be 
very  sorry  habitually  to  meet  the  fat  gentlemen 
with  shiny  top-hats  and  plump  cigars  in  whose 
society  I  have  been  spending  the  evening. 


American  Politics  37 

Read  about  politics  as  the  cultured  writer  of  the 
magazine  regards  'em,  and  then,  and  not  till  then, 
pay  your  respects  to  the  gentlemen  who  run  the 
grimy  reality. 

I  'm  sick  of  interviewing  night  editors  who  lean 
their  chair  against  the  wall,  and,  in  response  to 
my  demand  for  the  record  of  a  prominent  citizen, 
answer :  "  Well,  you  see,  he  began  by  keeping  a 
saloon,"  etc.  I  prefer  to  believe  that  my  inform- 
ants are  treating  me  as  in  the  old  sinful  days  in 
India  I  was  used  to  treat  the  wandering  globe- 
trotter. They  declare  that  they  speak  the  truth, 
and  the  news  of  dog  politics  lately  vouchsafed  to 
me  in  groggeries  inclines  me  to  believe,  but  I 
won't.  The  people  are  much  too  nice  to  slangan- 
der  as  recklessly  as  I  have  been  doing. 

Besides,  I  am  hopelessly  in  love  with  about  eight 
American  maidens  —  all  perfectly  delightful  till 
the  next  one  comes  into  the  room. 

O-Toyo  was  a  darling,  but  she  lacked  several 
things  —  conversation  for  one.  You  cannot  live 
on  giggles.  She  shall  remain  unmarried  at 
Nagasaki,  while  I  roast  a  battered  heart  before  the 
shrine  of  a  big  Kentucky  blonde,  who  had  for  a 
nurse  when  she  was  little  a  negro  "  mammy." 

By  consequence  she  has  welded  on  California 


38  American  Notes 

beauty,  Paris  dresses,  Eastern  culture,  Europe 
trips,  and  wild  Western  originality,  the  queer, 
dreamy  superstitions  of  the  quarters,  and  the  re- 
sult is  soul-shattering.  And  she  is  but  one  of 
many  stars. 

Item,  a  maiden  who  believes  in  education  and 
possesses  it,  with  a  few  hundred  thousand  dollars 
to  boot  and  a  taste  for  slumming. 

Item,  the  leader  of  a  sort  of  informal  salon 
where  girls  congregate,  read  papers,  and  daringly 
discuss  metaphysical  problems  and  candy  —  a  sloe- 
eyed,  black-browed,  imperious  maiden  she. 

Item,  a  very  small  maiden,  absolutely  without 
reverence,  who  can  in  one  swift  sentence  trample 
upon  and  leave  gasping  half  a  dozen  young  men. 

Item,  a  millionairess,  burdened  with  her  money, 
lonely,  caustic,  with  a  tongue  keen  as  a  sword, 
yearning  for  a  sphere,  but  chained  up  to  the  rock 
of  her  vast  possessions. 

Item,  a  typewriter  maiden  earning  her  own 
bread  in  this  big  city,  because  she  does  n't  think 
a  girl  ought  to  be  a  burden  on  her  parents,  who 
quotes  Theophile  Gautier  and  moves  through  the 
world  manfully,  much  respected  for  all  her  twenty 
inexperienced  summers. 

Item,  a   woman  from  cloud-land  who    has  no 


American  Politics  39 

history  in  the  past  or  future,  but  is  discreetly  of 
the  present,  and  strives  for  the  confidences  of 
male  humanity  on  the  grounds  of  "  sympathy " 
(methinks  this  is  not  altogether  a  new  type). 

Item,  a  girl  in  a  "  dive,"  blessed  with  a  Greek 
head  and  eyes,  that  seem  to  speak  all  that  is  best 
and  sweetest  in  the  world.  But  woe  is  me !  She 
has  no  ideas  in  this  world  or  the  next  beyond  the 
consumption  of  beer  (a  commission  on  each 
bottle),  and  protests  that  she  sings  the  songs  al- 
lotted to  her  nightly  without  more  than  the 
vaguest  notion  of  their  meaning. 

Sweet  and  comely  are  the  maidens  of  Devon- 
shire ;  delicate  and  of  gracious  seeming  those  who 
live  in  the  pleasant  places  of  London ;  fascinating 
for  all  their  demureness  the  damsels  of  France, 
clinging  closely  to  their  mothers,  with  large  eyes 
wondering  at  the  wicked  world;  excellent  in  her 
own  place  and  to  those  who  understand  her  is  the 
Anglo-Indian  "  spin "  in  her  second  season ;  but 
the  girls  of  America  are  above  and  beyond  them 
all.  They  are  clever,  they  can  talk  —  yea,  it  is 
said  that  they  think.  Certainly  they  have  an 
appearance  of  so  doing  which  is  delightfully 
deceptive. 

They  are  original,  and  regard  you  between  the 


40  American  Notes 

brows  with  unabashed  eyes  as  a  sister  might  look 
at  her  brother.  They  are  instructed,  too,  in  the 
folly  and  vanity  of  the  male  mind,  for  they  have 
associated  with  "  the  boys "  from  babyhood,  and 
can  discerningly  minister  to  both  vices  or  pleas- 
antly snub  the  possessor.  They  possess,  more- 
over, a  life  among  themselves,  independent  of  any 
masculine  associations.  They  have  societies  and 
clubs  and  unlimited  tea-fights  where  all  the  guests 
are  girls.  They  are  self-possessed,  without  part- 
ing with  any  tenderness  that  is  their  sex-right; 
they  understand ;  they  can  take  care  of  them- 
selves ;  they  are  superbly  independent.  When 
you  ask  them  what  makes  them  so  charming, 
they  say  :  — 

"  It  is  because  we  are  better  educated  than  your 
girls,  and  —  and  we  are  more  sensible  in  regard  to 
men.  We  have  good  times  all  round,  but  we 
are  n't  taught  to  regard  every  man  as  a  possible 
husband.  Nor  is  he  expected  to  marry  the  first 
girl  he  calls  on  regularly." 

Yes,  they  have  good  times,  their  freedom  is 
large,  and  they  do  not  abuse  it.  They  can  go 
driving  with  young  men  and  receive  visits  from 
young  men  to  an  extent  that  would  make  an 
English  mother  wink  with  horror,  and  neither 


American  Politics  41 

driver  nor  drivee  has  a  thought  beyond  the  enjoy- 
ment of  a  good  time.  As  certain,  also,  of  their 
own  poets  have  said  :  — 

"  Man  is  fire  and  woman  is  tow, 
And  the  devil  he  comes  and  begins  to  blow." 

In  America  the  tow  is  soaked  in  a  solution 
that  makes  it  fire-proof,  in  absolute  liberty  and 
large  knowledge ;  consequently,  accidents  do  not 
exceed  the  regular  percentage  arranged  by  the 
devil  for  each  class  and  climate  under  the  skies. 

But  the  freedom  of  the  young  girl  has  its  draw- 
backs. She  is  —  I  say  it  with  all  reluctance  — 
irreverent,  from  her  forty-dollar  bonnet  to  the 
buckles  in  her  eighteen-dollar  shoes.  She  talks 
flippantly  to  her  parents  and  men  old  enough  to 
be  her  grandfather.  She  has  a  prescriptive  right 
to  the  society  of  the  man  who  arrives.  The 
parents  admit  it. 

This  is  sometimes  embarrassing,  especially  when 
you  call  on  a  man  and  his  wife  for  the  sake  of 
information  —  the  one  being  a  merchant  of  varied 
knowledge,  the  other  a  woman  of  the  world.  In 
five  minutes  your  host  has  vanished.  In  another 
five  his  wife  has  followed  him,  and  you  are  left 
alone  with  a  very  charming  maiden,  doubtless,  but 


42  American  Notes 

certainly  not  the  person  you  came  to  see.  She 
chatters,  and  you  grin,  but  you  leave  with  the  very 
strong  impression  of  a  wasted  morning.  This  has 
been  my  experience  once  or  twice.  I  have  even 
said  as  pointedly  as  I  dared  to  a  man:  — 

u  I  came  to  see  you." 

"  You  'd  better  see  me  in  my  office,  then.  The 
house  belongs  to  my  women  folk  —  to  my  daugh- 
ter, that  is  to  say." 

He  spoke  the  truth.  The  American  of  wealth  is 
owned  by  his  family.  They  exploit  him  for  bull- 
ion. The  women  get  the  ha'pence,  the  kicks  are  all 
his  own.  Nothing  is  too  good  for  an  American's 
daughter  (I  speak  here  of  the  moneyed  classes). 

The  girls  take  every  gift  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  yet  they  develop  greatly  when  a  catastrophe 
arrives  and  the  man  of  many  millions  goes  up  or 
goes  down,  and  his  daughters  take  to  stenography 
or  typewriting.  I  have  heard  many  tales  of 
heroism  from  the  lips  of  girls  who  counted  the 
principals  among  their  friends.  The  crash  came, 
Mamie,  or  Hattie,  or  Sadie,  gave  up  their  maid, 
their  carriages  and  candy,  and  with  a  No.  2  Rem- 
ington and  a  stout  heart  set  about  earning  their 
daily  bread. 

"  And  did  I  drop  her  from  the  list  of  my  friends  ? 


American  Politics  43 

No,  sir,"  said  a  scarlet-lipped  vision  in  white  lace ; 
"  that  might  happen  to  us  any  day." 

It  may  be  this  sense  of  possible  disaster  in  the 
air  that  makes  San  Francisco  society  go  with  so 
captivating  a  rush  and  whirl.  Recklessness  is  in 
the  air.  I  can't  explain  where  it  comes  from,  but 
there  it  is.  The  roaring  winds  of  the  Pacific 
make  you  drunk  to  begin  with.  The  aggressive 
luxury  on  all  sides  helps  out  the  intoxication,  and 
you  spin  forever  u  down  the  ringing  grooves  of 
change "  (there  is  no  small  change,  by  the  way, 
west  of  the  Rockies)  as  long  as  money  lasts. 
They  make  greatly  and  they  spend  lavishly ;  not 
only  the  rich,  but  the  artisans,  who  pay  nearly  five 
pounds  for  a  suit  of  clothes,  and  for  other  luxuries 
in  proportion. 

The  young  men  rejoice  in  the  days  of  their 
youth.  They  gamble,  yacht,  race,  enjoy  prize- 
fights and  cock-fights,  the  one  openly,  the  other  in 
secret ;  they  establish  luxurious  clubs ;  they  break 
themselves  over  horse-flesh  and  other  things,  and 
they  are  instant  in  a  quarrel.  At  twenty  they  are 
experienced  in  business,  embark  in  vast  enterprises, 
take  partners  as  experienced  as  themselves,  and  go 
to  pieces  with  as  much  splendor  as  their  neighbors. 
Remember  that  the  men  who  stocked  California  in 


44  American  Notes 

the  fifties  were  physically,  and,  as  far  as  regards 
certain  tough  virtues,  the  pick  of  the  earth.  The 
inept  and  the  weakly  died  en  route^  or  went  under 
in  the  days  of  construction.  To  this  nucleus  were 
added  all  the  races  of  the  Continent  —  French, 
Italian,  German,  and,  of  course,  the  Jew. 

The  result  you  can  see  in  the  large-boned,  deep- 
chested,  delicate-handed  women,  and  long,  elastic, 
well-built  boys.  It  needs  no  little  golden  badge 
swinging  from  the  watch-chain  to  mark  the  native 
son  of  the  golden  West,  the  country-bred  of 
California. 

Him  I  love  because  he  is  devoid  of  fear,  carries 
himself  like  a  man,  and  has  a  heart  as  big  as  his 
books.  I  fancy,  too,  he  knows  how  to  enjoy  the 
blessings  of  life  that  his  province  so  abundantly 
bestows  upon  him.  At  least,  I  heard  a  little  rat 
of  a  creature  with  hock-bottle  shoulders  explaining 
that  a  man  from  Chicago  could  pull  the  eye-teeth 
of  a  Californian  in  business. 

Well,  if  I  lived  in  fairy-land,  where  cherries 
were  as  big  as  plums,  plums  as  big  as  apples, 
and  strawberries  of  no  account,  where  the  proces- 
sion of  the  fruits  of  the  seasons  was  like  a  pageant 
in  a  Drury  Lane  pantomime  and  the  dry  air  was 
wine,  I  should  let  business  slide  once  in  a  way  and 


American  Politics  45 

kick  up  my  heels  with  my  fellows.  The  tale  of 
the  resources  of  California  —  vegetable  and  min- 
eral —  is  a  fairy-tale.  You  can  read  it  in  books. 
You  would  never  believe  me. 

All  manner  of  nourishing  food,  from  sea-fish  to 
beef,  may  be  bought  at  the  lowest  prices,  and  the 
people  are  consequently  well-developed  and  of  a 
high  stomach.  They  demand  ten  shillings  for 
tinkering  a  jammed  lock  of  a  trunk ;  they  receive 
sixteen  shillings  a  day  for  working  as  carpenters ; 
they  spend  many  sixpences  on  very  bad  cigars, 
which  the  poorest  of  them  smoke,  and  they  go 
mad  over  a  prize-fight.  When  they  disagree  they 
do  so  fatally,  with  fire-arms  in  their  hands,  and  on 
the  public  streets.  I  was  just  clear  of  Mission 
Street  when  the  trouble  began  between  two  gentle- 
men, one  of  whom  perforated  the  other. 

When  a  policeman,  whose  name  I  do  not 
recollect,  "  fatally  shot  Ed  Hearney  "  for  attempt- 
ing to  escape  arrest,  I  was  in  the  next  street.  For 
these  things  I  am  thankful.  It  is  enough  to 
travel  with  a  policeman  in  a  tram-car,  and,  while 
he  arranges  his  coat-tails  as  he  sits  down,  to  catch 
sight  of  a  loaded  revolver.  It  is  enough  to  know 
that  fifty  per  cent  of  the  men  in  the  public  saloons 
carry  pistols  about  them. 


46  American  Notes 

The  Chinaman  waylays  his  adversary,  and  me- 
thodically chops  him  to  pieces  with  his  hatchet. 
Then  the  press  roars  about  the  brutal  ferocity  of 
the  pagan. 

The  Italian  reconstructs  his  friend  with  a  long 
knife.  The  press  complains  of  the  waywardness 
of  the  alien. 

The  Irishman  and  the  native  Californian  in 
their  hours  of  discontent  use  the  revolver,  not 
once,  but  six  times.  The  press  records  the  fact, 
and  asks  in  the  next  column  whether  the  world 
can  parallel  the  progress  of  San  Francisco.  The 
American  who  loves  his  country  will  tell  you  that 
this  sort  of  thing  is  confined  to  the  lower  classes. 
Just  at  present  an  ex-judge  who  was  sent  to  jail 
by  another  judge  (upon  my  word  I  cannot  tell 
whether  these  titles  mean  anything)  is  breathing 
red-hot  vengeance  against  his  enemy.  The  papers 
have  interviewed  both  parties,  and  confidently 
expect  a  fatal  issue. 

Now,  let  me  draw  breath  and  curse  the  negro 
waiter,  and  through  him  the  negro  in  service 
generally.  He  has  been  made  a  citizen  with  a 
vote,  consequently  both  political  parties  play  with 
him.  But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there.  He 
will  commit  in  one  meal  every  betise  that  a  scnllion 


American  Politics  47 

fresh  from  the  plow-tail  is  capable  of,  and  he  will 
continue  to  repeat  those  faults.  He  is  as  complete 
a  heavy-footed,  uncomprehending,  bungle-fisted  fool 
as  any  mem-sahib  in  the  East  ever  took  into  her  estab- 
lishment. But  he  is  according  to  law  a  free  and 
independent  citizen  —  consequently  above  reproof 
or  criticism.  He,  and  he  alone,  in  this  insane  city, 
will  wait  at  table  (the  Chinaman  does  n't  count). 

He  is  untrained,  inept,  but  he  will  fill  the  place 
and  draw  the  pay.  Now,  God  and  his  father's  fate 
made  him  intellectually  inferior  to  the  Oriental. 
He  insists  on  pretending  that  he  serves  tables  by 
accident  —  as  a  sort  of  amusement.  He  wishes 
you  to  understand  this  little  fact.  .  You  wish  to 
eat  your  meals,  and,  if  possible,  to  have  them 
properly  served.  He  is  a  big,  black,  vain  baby 
and  a  man  rolled  into  one. 

A  colored  gentleman  who  insisted  on  getting 
me  pie  when  I  wanted  something  else,  demanded 
information  about  India.  I  gave  him  some  facts 
about  wages. 

"  Oh,  hell !"  said  he,  cheerfully,  "that  would  n't 
keep  me  in  cigars  for  a  month." 

Then  he  fawned  on  me  for  a  ten-cent  piece. 
Later  he  took  it  upon  himself  to  pity  the  natives 
of  India.  "Heathens,"  he  called  them — this 


48  American  Notes 

woolly  one,  whose  race  has  been  the  butt  of  every 
comedy  on  the  native  stage  since  the  beginning. 
And  I  turned  and  saw  by  the  head  upon  his 
shoulders  that  he  was  a  Yoruba  man,  if  there  be 
any  truth  in  ethnological  castes.  He  did  his 
thinking  in  English,  but  he  was  a  Yoruba  negro, 
and  the  race  type  had  remained  the  same  through- 
out his  generations.  And  the  room  was  full  of 
other  races  —  some  that  looked  exactly  like  Gallas 
(but  the  trade  was  never  recruited  from  that  side 
of  Africa),  some  duplicates  of  Cameroon  heads, 
and  some  Kroomen,  if  ever  Kroomen  wore  even- 
ing dress. 

The  American  does  not  consider  little  matters 
of  descent,  though  by  this  time  he  ought  to  know 
all  about  "  damnable  heredity."  As  a  general 
rule  he  keeps  himself  very  far  from  the  negro, 
and  says  things  about  him  that  are  not  pretty. 
There  are  six  million  negroes,  more  or  less,  in 
the  States,  and  they  are  increasing.  The  Ameri- 
can, once  having  made  them  citizens,  cannot 
unmake  them.  He  says,  in  his  newspapers,  they 
ought  to  be  elevated  by  education.  He  is  trying 
this,  but  it  is  likely  to  be  a  long  job,  because 
black  blood  is  much  more  adhesive  than  white, 
and  throws  back  with  annoying  persistence. 


American  Politics  49 

When  the  negro  gets  religion  he  returns  directly 
as  a  hiving  bee  to  the  first  instincts  of  his  people. 
Just  now  a  wave  of  religion  is  sweeping  over 
some  of  the  Southern  States. 

Up  to  the  present  two  Messiahs  and  a  Daniel 
have  appeared,  and  several  human  sacrifices  have 
been  offered  up  to  these  incarnations.  The 
Daniel  managed  to  get  three  young  men,  who  he 
insisted  were  Shadrach,  Meshach,  and  Abednego, 
to  walk  into  a  blast  furnace,  guaranteeing  non- 
combustion.  They  did  not  return.  I  have  seen 
nothing  of  this  kind,  but  I  have  attended  a  negro 
church.  They  pray,  or  are  caused  to  pray  by 
themselves  in  this  country.  The  congregation 
were  moved  by  the  spirit  to  groans  and  tears,  and 
one  of  them  danced  up  the  aisle  to  the  mourners' 
bench.  The  motive  may  have  been  genuine. 
The  movements  of  the  shaken  body  were  those 
of  a  Zanzibar  stick  dance,  such  as  you  see  at 
Aden  on  the  coal-boats,  and  even  as  I  watched 
the  people,  the  links  that  bound  them  to  the 
white  man  snapped  one  by  one,  and  I  saw  before 
me  the  kubsbi  (woolly  hair)  praying  to  a  God  he 
did  not  understand.  Those  neatly  dressed  folk 
on  the  benches,  and  the  gray-headed  elder  by  the 
window,  were  savages,  neither  more  nor  less. 
4 


50  American  Notes 

What  will  the  American  do  with  the  negro  ? 
The  South  will  not  consort  with  him.  In  some 
States  miscegenation  is  a  penal  offence.  The 
North  is  every  year  less  and  less  in  need  of  his 
services. 

And  he  will  not  disappear.  He  will  continue 
as  a  problem.  His  friends  will  urge  that  he  is  as 
good  as  the  white  man.  His  enemies  —  well,  you 
can  guess  what  his  enemies  will  do  from  a  little 
incident  that  followed  on  a  recent  appointment  by 
the  President.  He  made  a  negro  an  assistant  in 
a  post-office  where  —  think  of  it !  —  he  had  to 
work  at  the  next  desk  to  a  white  girl,  the  daughter 
of  a  colonel,  one  of  the  first  families  of  Georgia's 
modern  chivalry,  and  all  the  weary,  weary  rest  of 
it.  The  Southern  chivalry  howled,  and  hanged 
or  burned  some  one  in  effigy.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  President,  and  perhaps  it  was  the  negro  — 
but  the  principle  remains  the  same.  They  said 
it  was  an  insult.  It  is  not  good  to  be  a  negro  in 
the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave. 

But  this  is  nothing  to  do  with  San  Francisco 
and  her  merry  maidens,  her  strong,  swaggering 
men,  and  her  wealth  of  gold  and  pride.  They 
bore  me  to  a  banquet  in  honor  of  a  brave  lieuten- 
ant —  Carlin,  of  the  "  Vandalia  "  —  who  stuck 


American  Politics  51 

by  his  ship  in  the  great  cyclone  at  Apia  and  com- 
ported himself  as  an  officer  should.  On  that 
occasion  —  't  was  at  the  Bohemian  Club  —  I 
heard  oratory  with  the  roundest  of  o's,  and  de- 
voured a  dinner  the  memory  of  which  will  descend 
with  me  into  the  hungry  grave. 

There  were  about  forty  speeches  delivered,  and 
not  one  of  them  was  average  or  ordinary.  It  was 
my  first  introduction  to  the  American  eagle 
screaming  for  all  it  was  worth.  The  lieutenant's 
heroism  served  as  a  peg  from  which  the  silver- 
tongued  ones  turned  themselves  loose  and  kicked. 

They  ransacked  the  clouds  of  sunset,  the 
thunderbolts  of  heaven,  the  deeps  of  hell,  and  the 
splendor  of  the  resurrection  for  tropes  and  met- 
aphors, and  hurled  the  result  at  the  head  of  the 
guest  of  the  evening. 

Never  since  the  morning  stars  sung  together  for 
joy,  I  learned,  had  an  amazed  creation  witnessed 
such  superhuman  bravery  as  that  displayed  by  the 
American  navy  in  the  Samoa  cyclone.  Till  earth 
rotted  in  the  phosphorescent  star-and-stripe  slime 
of  a  decayed  universe,  that  god-like  gallantry 
would  not  be  forgotten.  I  grieve  that  I  cannot 
give  the  exact  words.  My  attempt  at  reproduc- 
ing their  spirit  is  pale  and  inadequate.  I  sat 


52  American  Notes 

bewildered  on  a  coruscating  Niagara  of  blatherum- 
skite.  It  was  magnificent  —  it  was  stupendous 
—  and  I  was  conscious  of  a  wicked  desire  to  hide 
my  face  in  a  napkin  and  grin.  Then,  according 
to  rule,  they  produced  their  dead,  and  across  the 
snowy  table-cloths  dragged  the  corpse  of  every 
man  slain  in  the  Civil  War,  and  hurled  defiance  at 
"  our  natural  enemy "  (England,  so  please  you), 
"with  her  chain  of  fortresses  across  the  world." 
Thereafter  they  glorified  their  nation  afresh  from 
the  beginning,  in  case  any  detail  should  have  been 
overlooked,  and  that  made  me  uncomfortable  for 
their  sakes.  How  in  the  world  can  a  white  man, 
a  sahib,  of  our  blood,  stand  up  and  plaster  praise 
on  his  own  country  ?  He  can  think  as  highly  as 
he  likes,  but  this  open-mouthed  vehemence  of 
adoration  struck  me  almost  as  indelicate.  My 
hosts  talked  for  rather  more  than  three  hours,  and 
at  the  end  seemed  ready  for  three  hours  more. 

But  when  the  lieutenant — such  a  big,  brave, 
gentle  giant  —  rose  to  his  feet,  he  delivered  what 
seemed  to  me  as  the  speech  of  the  evening.  I 
remember  nearly  the  whole  of  it,  and  it  ran  some- 
thing in  this  way :  — 

u  Gentlemen  —  It 's  very  good  of  you  to  give 
me  this  dinner  and  to  tell  me  all  these  pretty 


American  Politics  53 

things,  but  what  I  want  you  to  understand  —  the 
fact  is,  what  we  want  and  what  we  ought  to  get 
at  once,  is  a  navy  —  more  ships  —  lots  of  'em  — " 

Then  we  howled  the  top  of  the  roof  off,  and  I 
for  one  fell  in  love  with  Carlin  on  the  spot. 
Wallah !  He  was  a  man. 

The  prince  among  merchants  bid  me  take  no 
heed  to  the  warlike  sentiments  of  some  of  the  old 
generals. 

"  The  sky-rockets  are  thrown  in  for  effect," 
quoth  he,  u  and  whenever  we  get  on  our  hind  legs 
we  always  express  a  desire  to  chaw  up  England. 
It 's  a  sort  of  family  affair." 

And,  indeed,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it, 
there  is  no  other  country  for  the  American  public 
speaker  to  trample  upon. 

France  has  Germany ;  we  have  Russia ;  for 
Italy  Austria  is  provided ;  and  the  humblest  Pathan 
possesses  an  ancestral  enemy. 

Only  America  stands  out  of  the  racket,  and  there- 
fore to  be  in  fashion  makes  a  sand-bag  of  the  mother 
country,  and  hangs  her  when  occasion  requires. 

u  The  chain  of  fortresses "  man,  a  fascinating 
talker,  explained  to  me  after  the  affair  that  he 
was  compelled  to  blow  off  steam.  Everybody 
expected  it. 


54  American  Notes 

When  we  had  chanted  "The  Star  Spangled 
Banner  "  not  more  than  eight  times,  we  adjourned. 
America  is  a  very  great  country,  but  it  is  not  yet 
heaven,  with  electric  lights  and  plush  fittings,  as 
the  speakers  professed  to  believe.  My  listening 
mind  went  back  to  the  politicians  in  the  saloon, 
who  wasted  no  time  in  talking  about  freedom,  but 
quietly  made  arrangements  to  impose  their  will  on 
the  citizens. 

"  The  judge  is  a  great  man,  but  give  thy  pres- 
ents to  the  clerk,"  as  the  proverb  saith. 

And  what  more  remains  to  tell  ?  I  cannot 
write  connectedly,  because  I  am  in  love  with  all 
those  girls  aforesaid,  and  some  others  who  do  not 
appear  in  the  invoice.  The  typewriter  is  an  in- 
stitution of  which  the  comic  papers  make  much 
capital,  but  she  is  vastly  convenient.  She  and  a 
companion  rent  a  room  in  a  business  quarter,  and, 
aided  by  a  typewriting  machine,  copy  MSS.  at  the 
rate  of  six  annas  a  page.  Only  a  woman  can 
operate  a  typewriting  machine,  because  she  has 
served  apprenticeship  to  the  sewing  machine.  She 
can  earn  as  much  as  one  hundred  dollars  a  month, 
and  professes  to  regard  this  form  of  bread-winning 
as  her  natural  destiny.  But,  oh  !  how  she  hates  it 
in  her  heart  of  hearts!  When  I  had  got  over 


American  Politics  55 

the  surprise  of  doing  business  with  and  trying  to 
give  orders  to  a  young  woman  of  coldly,  clerkly 
aspect  intrenched  behind  gold-rimmed  spectacles, 
I  made  inquiries  concerning  the  pleasures  of  this 
independence.  They  liked  it  —  indeed  they  did. 
'T  was  the  natural  fate  of  almost  all  girls  —  the 
recognized  custom  in  America  —  and  I  was  a 
barbarian  not  to  see  it  in  that  light. 

"  Well,  and  after  ?  "  said  I.     "  What  happens  ?  " 

"  We  work  for  our  bread." 

"  And  then  what  do  you  expect  ?  " 

"  Then  we  shall  work  for  our  bread." 

«  Till  you  die  ?  " 

«  Ye-es —  unless  — " 

"Unless  what?  This  is  your  business,  you 
know.  A  man  works  until  he  dies." 

u  So  shall  we  "  — this  without  enthusiasm  —  "I 
suppose." 

Said  the  partner  in  the  firm,  audaciously  :  — 

u  Sometimes  we  marry  our  employes  —  at  least, 
that 's  what  the  newspapers  say." 

The  hand  banged  on  half  a  dozen  of  the  keys  of 
the  machine  at  once.  "  Yet  I  don't  care.  I  hate  it 
—  I  hate  it  —  I  hate  it  —  and  you  needn't  look  so!" 

The  senior  partner  was  regarding  the  rebel  with 
grave-eyed  reproach. 


56  American  Notes 

"  I  thought  you  did,"  said  I.  u  I  don't  suppose 
American  girls  are  much  different  from  English 
ones  in  instinct." 

"  Is  n't  it  Theophile  Gautier  who  says  that  the 
only  difference  between  country  and  country  lie  in 
the  slang  and  the  uniform  of  the  police  ?  " 

Now,  in  the  name  of  all  the  gods  at  once,  what 
is  one  to  say  to  a  young  lady  (who  in  England 
would  be  a  person)  who  earns  her  own  bread,  and 
very  naturally  hates  the  employ,  and  slings  out-of- 
the-way  quotations  at  your  head  ?  That  one  falls 
in  love  with  her  goes  without  saying,  but  that  is 
not  enough. 

A  mission  should  be  established. 


Ill 

American  Salmon 


The  race  is  neither  to  the  swift  nor  the  battle  to  the 
strongj  but  time  and  chance  cometh  to  all. 

T   HAVE  lived! 

•*•  The  American  Continent  may  now  sink 
under  the  sea,  for  I  have  taken  the  best  that  it 
yields,  and  the  best  was  neither  dollars,  love,  nor 
real  estate. 

Hear  now,  gentlemen  of  the  Punjab  Fishing 
Club,  who  whip  the  reaches  of  the  Tavi,  and  you 
who  painfully  import  trout  over  to  Octamund, 
and  I  will  tell  you  how  old  man  California  and  I 
went  fishing,  and  you  shall  envy. 

We  returned  from  The  Dalles  to  Portland  by 
the  way  we  had  come,  the  steamer  stopping  en 
route  to  pick  up  a  night's  catch  of  one  of  the 
salmon  wheels  on  the  river,  and  to  deliver  it  at  a 
cannery  down-stream. 

When  the  proprietor  of  the  wheel   announced 


58  American  Notes 

that  his  take  was  two  thousand  two  hundred  and 
thirty  pounds  weight  of  fish,  "  and  not  a  heavy 
catch  neither,"  I  thought  he  lied.  But  he  sent 
the  boxes  aboard,  and  I  counted  the  salmon  by 
the  hundred  —  huge  fifty-pounders  hardly  dead, 
scores  of  twenty  and  thirty  pounders,  and  a  host 
of  smaller  fish.  They  were  all  Chenook  salmon, 
as  distinguished  from  the  "  steel  head  "  and  the 
"  silver  side."  That  is  to  say,  they  were  royal 
salmon,  and  California  and  I  dropped  a  tear  over 
them,  as  monarchs  who  deserved  a  better  fate  ; 
but  the  lust  of  slaughter  entered  into  our  souls, 
and  we  talked  fish  and  forgot  the  mountain  scen- 
ery that  had  so  moved  us  a  day  before. 

The  steamer  halted  at  a  rude  wooden  warehouse 
built  on  piles  in  a  lonely  reach  of  the  river,  and 
sent  in  the  fish.  I  followed  them  up  a  scale- 
strewn,  fishy  incline  that  led  to  the  cannery.  The 
crazy  building  was  quivering  with  the  machinery 
on  its  floors,  and  a  glittering  bank  of  tin  scraps 
twenty  feet  high  showed  where  the  waste  was 
thrown  after  the  cans  had  been  punched. 

Only  Chinamen  were  employed  on  the  work, 
and  they  looked  like  blood-besmeared  yellow  devils 
as  they  crossed  the  rifts  of  sunlight  that  lay  upon 
the  floor.  When  our  consignment  arrived,  the 


American  Salmon  59 

rough  wooden  boxes  broke  of  themselves  as  they 
were  dumped  down  under  a  jet  of  water,  and  the 
salmon  burst  out  in  a  stream  of  quicksilver.  A 
Chinaman  jerked  up  a  twenty-pounder,  beheaded 
and  detailed  it  with  two  swift  strokes  of  a  knife, 
flicked  out  its  internal  arrangements  with  a  third, 
and  cast  it  into  a  blood-dyed  tank.  The  headless 
fish  leaped  from  under  his  hands  as  though  they 
were  facing  a  rapid.  Other  Chinamen  pulled  them 
from  the  vat  and  thrust  them  under  a  thing  like  a 
chaff-cutter,  which,  descending,  hewed  them  into 
unseemly  red  gobbets  fit  for  the  can. 

More  Chinamen,  with  yellow,  crooked  fingers, 
jammed  the  stuff  into  the  cans,  which  slid  down 
some  marvellous  machine  forthwith,  soldering  their 
own  tops  as  they  passed.  Each  can  was  hastily 
tested  for  flaws,  and  then  sunk  with  a  hundred 
companions  into  a  vat  of  boiling  water,  there  to 
be  half  cooked  for  a  few  minutes.  The  cans 
bulged  slightly  after  the  operation,  and  were 
therefore  slidden  along  by  the  trolleyful  to  men 
with  needles  and  soldering-irons  who  vented  them 
and  soldered  the  aperture.  Except  for  the  label, 
the  "  Finest  Columbia  Salmon  "  was  ready  for  the 
market.  I  was  impressed  not  so  much  with  the 
speed  of  the  manufacture  as  the  character  of 


60  American  Notes 

the  factory.  Inside,  on  a  floor  ninety  by  forty, 
the  most  civilized  and  murderous  of  machinery. 
Outside,  three  footsteps,  the  thick-growing  pines 
and  the  immense  solitude  of  the  hills.  Our 
steamer  only  stayed  twenty  minutes  at  that  place, 
but  I  counted  two  hundred  and  forty  finished  cans 
made  from  the  catch  of  the  previous  night  ere  I 
left  the  slippery,  blood-stained,  scale-spangled,  oily 
floors  and  the  offal-smeared  Chinamen. 

We  reached  Portland,  California  and  I  cry- 
ing for  salmon,  and  a  real-estate  man,  to  whom 
we  had  been  intrusted  by  an  insurance  man, 
met  us  in  the  street,  saying  that  fifteen  miles 
away,  across  country,  we  should  come  upon  a 
place  called  Clackamas,  where  we  might  per- 
chance find  what  we  desired.  And  California, 
his  coat-tails  flying  in  the  wind,  ran  to  a  livery- 
stable  and  chartered  a  wagon  and  team  forthwith. 
I  could  push  the  wagon  about  with  one  hand,  so 
light  was  its  structure.  The  team  was  purely 
American  —  that  is  to  say,  almost  human  in  its 
intelligence  and  docility.  Some  one  said  that  the 
roads  were  not  good  on  the  way  to  Clackamas, 
and  warned  us  against  smashing  the  springs. 
"Portland,"  who  .had  watched  the  preparations, 
finally  reckoned  "  He  'd  come  along,  too ; "  and 


American  Salmon  61 

under  heavenly  skies  we  three  companions  of  a 
day  set  forth,  California  carefully  lashing  our  rods 
into  the  carriage,  and  the  by-standers  overwhelm- 
ing us  with  directions  as  to  the  saw-mills  we  were 
to  pass,  the  ferries  we  were  to  cross,  and  the  sign- 
posts we  were  to  seek  signs  from.  Half  a  mile 
from  this  city  of  fifty  thousand  souls  we  struck 
(and  this  must  be  taken  literally)  a  plank  road  that 
would  have  been  a  disgrace  to  an  Irish  village. 

Then  six  miles  of  macadamized  road  showed  us 
that  the  team  could  move.  A  railway  ran  between 
us  and  the  banks  of  the  Willamette,  and  another 
above  us  through  the  mountains.  All  the  land 
was  dotted  with  small  townships,  and  the  roads 
were  full  of  farmers  in  their  town  wagons,  bunches 
of  tow-haired,  boggle-eyed  urchins  sitting  in  the 
hay  behind.  The  men  generally  looked  like  loaf- 
ers, but  their  women  were  all  well  dressed. 

Brown  braiding  on  a  tailor-made  jacket  does 
not,  however,  consort  with  hay-wagons.  Then 
we  struck  into  the  woods  along  what  California 
called  a  camlna  reale  —  a  good  road  —  and  Port- 
land a  "  fair  track."  It  wound  in  and  out  among 
fire-blackened  stumps  under  pine-trees,  along  the 
corners  of  log  fences,  through  hollows,  which 
must  be  hopeless  marsh  in  the  winter,  and  up 


6  2  American  Notes 

absurd  gradients.  But  nowhere  throughout  its 
length  did  I  see  any  evidence  of  road-making. 
There  was  a  track  —  you  could  n't  well  get  off 
it,  and  it  was  all  you  could  do  to  stay  on  it.  The 
dust  lay  a  foot  thick  in  the  blind  ruts,  and  under 
the  dust  we  found  bits  of  planking  and  bundles  of 
brushwood  that  sent  the  wagon  bounding  into  the 
air.  The  journey  in  itself  was  a  delight.  Some- 
times we  crashed  through  bracken ;  anon,  where 
the  blackberries  grew  rankest,  we  found  a  lonely 
little  cemetery,  the  wooden  rails  all  awry  and  the 
pitiful,  stumpy  head-stones  nodding  drunkenly  at 
the  soft  green  mullions.  Then,  with  oaths  and 
the  sound  of  rent  underwood,  a  yoke  of  mighty 
bulls  would  swing  down  a  "  skid  "  road,  hauling 
a  forty-foot  log  along  a  rudely  made  slide. 

A  valley  full  of  wheat  and  cherry-trees  suc- 
ceeded, and  halting  at  a  house,  we  bought  ten- 
pound  weight  of  luscious  black  cherries  for 
something  less  than  a  rupee,  and  got  a  drink  of 
icy-cold  water  for  nothing,  while  the  untended 
team  browsed  sagaciously  by  the  road-side.  Once 
we  found  a  way-side  camp  of  horse-dealers  loung- 
ing by  a  pool,  ready  for  a  sale  or  a  swap,  and  once 
two  sun-tanned  youngsters  shot  down  a  hill  on 
Indian  ponies,  their  full  creels  banging  from  the 


American  Salmon  63 

high-pommelled  saddle.  They  had  been  fishing, 
and  were  our  brethren,  therefore.  We  shouted 
aloud  in  chorus  to  scare  a  wild  cat ;  we  squabbled 
over  the  reasons  that  had  led  a  snake  to  cross  a 
road;  we  heaved  bits  of  bark  at  a  venturesome 
chipmunk,  who  was  really  the  little  gray  squirrel 
of  India,  and  had  come  to  call  on  me;  we  lost 
our  way,  and  got  the  wagon  so  beautifully  fixed  on 
a  khud-bound  road  that  we  had  to  tie  the  two  hind 
wheels  to  get  it  down. 

Above  all,  California  told  tales  of  Nevada  and 
Arizona,  of  lonely  nights  spent  out  prospecting, 
the  slaughter  of  deer  and  the  chase  of  men,  of 
woman  —  lovely  woman  —  who  is  a  firebrand  in 
a  Western  city  and  leads  to  the  popping  of  pistols, 
and  of  the  sudden  changes  and  chances  of  Fortune, 
who  delights  in  making  the  miner  or  the  lumber- 
man a  quadruplicate  millionaire  and  in  "  busting  " 
the  railroad  king. 

That  was  a  day  to  be  remembered,  and  it  had 
only  begun  when  we  drew  rein  at  a  tiny  farm- 
house on  the  banks  of  the  Clackamas  and  sought 
horse  feed  and  lodging,  ere  we  hastened  to  the 
river  that  broke  over  a  weir  not  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away.  Imagine  a  stream  seventy  yards 
broad  divided  by  a  pebbly  island,  running  over 


64  American  Notes 

seductive  "riffles"  and  swirling  into  deep,  quiet 
pools,  where  the  good  salmon  goes  to  smoke  his 
pipe  after  meals.  Get  such  a  stream  amid  fields 
of  breast-high  crops  surrounded  by  hills  of  pines, 
throw  in  where  you  please  quiet  water,  long- 
fenced  meadows,  and  a  hundred-foot  bluff  just  to 
keep  the  scenery  from  growing  too  monotonous, 
and  you  will  get  some  faint  notion  of  the  Clacka- 
mas.  The  weir  had  been  erected  to  pen  the 
Chenook  salmon  from  going  further  up-stream. 
We  could  see  them,  twenty  or  thirty  pounds,  by 
the  score  in  the  deep  pools,  or  flying  madly  against 
the  weir  and  foolishly  skinning  their  noses.  They 
were  not  our  prey,  for  they  would  not  rise  at  a 
fly,  and  we  knew  it.  All  the  same,  when  one 
made  his  leap  against  the  weir,  and  landed  on  the 
foot-plank  with  a  jar  that  shook  the  board  I  was 
standing  on,  I  would  fain  have  claimed  him  for 
my  own  capture. 

Portland  had  no  rod.  He  held  the  gaff  and 
the  whiskey.  California  sniffed  up-stream  and 
down-stream,  across  the  racing  water,  chose  his 
ground,  and  let  the  gaudy  fly  drop  in  the  tail  of 
a  riffle.  I  was  getting  my  rod  together,  when  I 
heard  the  joyous  shriek  of  the  reel  and  the  yells 
of  California,  and  three  feet  of  living  silver  leaped 


American  Salmon  65 

into  the  air  far  across  the  water.  The  forces 
were  engaged. 

The  salmon  tore  up-stream,  the  tense  line 
cutting  the  water  like  a  tide-rip  behind  him,  and 
the  light  bamboo  bowed  to  breaking.  What  hap- 
pened thereafter  I  cannot  tell.  California  swore 
and  prayed,  and  Portland  shouted  advice,  and  I 
did  all  three  for  what  appeared  to  be  half  a  day, 
but  was  in  reality  a  little  over  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  and  sullenly  our  fish  came  home  with  spurts 
of  temper,  dashes  head  on  and  sarabands  in  the 
air,  but  home  to  the  bank  came  he,  and  the  re- 
morseless reel  gathered  up  the  thread  of  his  life 
inch  by  inch.  We  landed  him  in  a  little  bay,  and 
the  spring  weight  in  his  gorgeous  gills  checked  at 
eleven  and  one  half  pounds.  Eleven  and  one 
half  pounds  of  fighting  salmon!  We  danced  a 
war-dance  on  the  pebbles,  and  California  caught 
me  round  the  waist  in  a  hug  that  went  near  to 
breaking  my  ribs,  while  he  shouted :  — 

"  Partner  !  Partner  !  This  is  glory  !  Now  you 
catch  your  fish  !  Twenty-four  years  I  've  waited 
for  this  !  " 

I  went  into  that  icy-cold  river  and  made  my 
cast  just  above  the  weir,  and  all  but  foul-hooked 
a  blue-and-black  water-snake  with  a  coral  mouth 
5 


66  American  Notes 

who  coiled  herself  on  a  stone  and  hissed  male- 
dictions. 

The  next  cast  —  ah,  the  pride  of  it,  the  regal 
splendor  of  it  !  the  thrill  that  ran  down  from 
finger-tip  to  toe  !  Then  the  water  boiled.  He 
broke  for  the  fly  and  got  it.  There  remained 
enough  sense  in  me  to  give  him  all  he  wanted 
when  he  jumped  not  once,  but  twenty  times, 
before  the  up-stream  flight  that  ran  my  line  out 
to  the  last  half-dozen  turns,  and  I  saw  the  nickelled 
reel-bar  glitter  under  the  thinning  green  coils. 
My  thumb  was  burned  deep  when  I  strove  to 
stopper  the  line. 

I  did  not  feel  it  till  later,  for  my  soul  was  out 
in  the  dancing  weir,  praying  for  him  to  turn  ere 
he  took  my  tackle  away.  And  the  prayer  was 
heard.  As  I  bowed  back,  the  butt  of  the  rod  on 
my  left  hip-bone  and  the  top  joint  dipping  like 
unto  a  weeping  willow,  he  turned  and  accepted 
each  inch  of  slack  that  I  could  by  any  means  get 
in  as  a  favor  from  on  high.  There  lie  several 
sorts  of  success  in  this  world  that  taste  well  in 
the  moment  of  enjoyment,  but  I  question  whether 
the  stealthy  theft  of  line  from  an  able-bodied 
salmon  who  knows  exactly  what  you  are  doing 
and  why  you  are  doing  it  is  not  sweeter  than  any 


American  Salmon  67 

other  victory  within  human  scope.  Like  Cali- 
fornia's fish,  he  ran  at  me  head  on,  and  leaped 
against  the  line,  but  the  Lord  gave  me  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  pairs  of  fingers  in  that  hour.  The 
banks  and  the  pine-trees  danced  dizzily  round  me, 
but  I  only  reeled  —  reeled  as  for  life  —  reeled  for 
hours,  and  at  the  end  of  the  reeling  continued  to 
give  him  the  butt  while  he  sulked  in  a  pool. 
California  was  further  up  the  reach,  and  with  the 
corner  of  my  eye  I  could  see  him  casting  with 
lon^;  casts  and  much  skill.  Then  he  struck,  and 

O  ' 

my  fish  broke  for  the  weir  in  the  same  instant, 
and  down  the  reach  we  came,  California  and  I, 
reel  answering  reel  even  as  the  morning  stars  sing 
together. 

The  first  wild  enthusiasm  of  capture  had  died 
away.  We  were  both  at  work  now  in  deadly 
earnest  to  prevent  the  lines  fouling,  to  stall  off  a 
down-stream  rush  for  shaggy  water  just  above  the 
weir,  and  at  the  same  time  to  get  the  fish  into 
the  shallow  bay  down-stream  that  gave  the  best 
practicable  landing.  Portland  bid  us  both  be  of 
good  heart,  and  volunteered  to  take  the  rod  from 
my  hands. 

I  would  rather  have  died  among  the  pebbles 
than  surrender  my  right  to  play  and  land  a  salmon, 


68  American  Notes 

weight  unknown,  with  an  eight-ounce  rod.  I 
heard  California,  at  my  ear,  it  seemed,  gasping : 
u  He  's  a  fighter  from  Fightersville,  sure  !  "  as  his 
fish  made  a  fresh  break  across  the  stream.  I  saw 
Portland  fall  off  a  log  fence,  break  the  overhanging 
bank,  and  clatter  down  to  the  pebbles,  all  sand  and 
landing-net,  and  I  dropped  on  a  log  to  rest  for  a 
moment.  As  I  drew  breath  the  weary  hands 
slackened  their  hold,  and  I  forgot  to  give  him  the 
butt. 

A  wild  scutter  in  the  water,  a  plunge,  and  a 
break  for  the  head-waters  of  the  Clackamas  was 
my  reward,  and  the  weary  toil  of  reeling  in  with 
one  eye  under  the  water  and  the  other  on  the  top 
joint  of  the  rod  was  renewed.  Worst  of  all,  I  was 
blocking  California's  path  to  the  little  landing  bay 
aforesaid,  and  he  had  to  halt  and  tire  his  prize 
where  he  was. 

"  The  father  of  all  the  salmon  ! "  he  shouted. 
cc  For  the  love  of  Heaven,  get  your  trout  to  bank, 
Johnny  Bull!" 

But  I  could  do  no  more.  Even  the  insult  failed 
to  move  me.  The  rest  of  the  game  was  with  the 
salmon.  He  suffered  himself  to  be  drawn,  skip- 
ping with  pretended  delight  at  getting  to  the  haven 
where  I  would  fain  bring  him.  Yet  no  sooner 


American  Salmon  69 

did  he  feel  shoal  water  under  his  ponderous  belly 
than  he  backed  like  a  torpedo-boat,  and  the  snarl 
of  the  reel  told  me  that  my  labor  was  in  vain.  A 
dozen  times,  at  least,  this  happened  ere  the  line 
hinted  he  had  given  up  the  battle  and  would  be 
towed  in.  He  was  towed.  The  landing-net  was 
useless  for  one  of  his  size,  and  I  would  not  have 
him  gaffed.  I  stepped  into  the  shallows  and 
heaved  him  out  with  a  respectful  hand  under  the 
gill,  for  which  kindness  he  battered  me  about  the 
legs  with  his  tail,  and  I  felt  the  strength  of  him 
and  was  proud.  California  had  taken  my  place  in 
the  shallows,  his  fish  hard  held.  I  was  up  the 
bank  lying  full  length  on  the  sweet-scented  grass 
and  gasping  in  company  with  my  first  salmon 
caught,  played  and  landed  on  an  eight-ounce  rod. 
My  hands  were  cut  and  bleeding,  I  was  dripping 
with  sweat,  spangled  like  a  harlequin  with  scales, 
water  from  my  waist  down,  nose  peeled  by  the  sun, 
but  utterly,  supremely,  and  consummately  happy. 

The  beauty,  the  darling,  the  daisy,  my  Salmon 
Bahadur,  weighed  twelve  pounds,  and  I  had  been 
seven-and-thirty  minutes  bringing  him  to  bank  ! 
He  had  been  lightly  hooked  on  the  angle  of  the 
right  jaw,  and  the  hook  had  not  wearied  him. 
That  hour  I  sat  among  princes  and  crowned 


yo  American  Notes 

heads  greater  than  them  all.  Below  the  bank  we 
heard  California  scuffing  with  his  salmon  and 
swearing  Spanish  oaths.  Portland  and  I  assisted 
at  the  capture,  and  the  fish  dragged  the  spring 
balance  out  by  the  roots.  It  was  only  constructed 
to  weigh  up  to  fifteen  pounds.  We  stretched  the 
three  fish  on  the  grass  —  the  eleven  and  a  half, 
the  twelve  and  fifteen  pounder  —  and  we  gave  an 
oath  that  all  who  came  after  should  merely  be 
weighed  and  put  back  again. 

How  shall  I  tell  the  glories  of  that  day  so  that 
you  may  be  interested  ?  Again  and  again  did 
California  and  I  prance  down  that  reach  to  the 
little  bay,  each  with  a  salmon  in  tow,  and  land 
him  in  the  shallows.  Then  Portland  took  my  rod 
and  caught  some  ten-pounders,  and  my  spoon  was 
carried  away  by  an  unknown  leviathan.  Each 
fish,  for  the  merits  of  the  three  that  had  died  so 
gamely,  was  hastily  hooked  on  the  balance  and 
flung  back.  Portland  recorded  the  weight  in  a 
pocket-book,  for  he  was  a  real-estate  man.  Each 
fish  fought  for  all  he  was  worth,  and  none  more 
savagely  than  the  smallest,  a  game  little  six-pounder. 
At  the  end  of  six  hours  we  added  up  the  list.  Read 
it.  Total :  Sixteen  fish ;  aggregate  weight,  one 
hundred  and  forty  pounds.  The  score  in  detail  runs 


American  Salmon  71 

something  like  this  —  it  is  only  interesting  to 
those  concerned  :  fifteen,  eleven  and  a  half,  twelve, 
ten,  nine  and  three  quarters,  eight,  and  so  forth  •, 
as  I  have  said,  nothing  under  six  pounds,  and 
three  ten-pounders. 

Very  solemnly  and  thankfully  we  put  up  our 
rods  —  it  was  glory  enough  for  all  time  —  and 
returned  weeping  in  each  other's  arms,  weeping 
tears  of  pure  joy,  to  that  simple,  bare-legged  family 
in  the  packing-case  house  by  the  water-side. 

The  old  farmer  recollected  days  and  nights  of 
fierce  warfare  with  the  Indians  "  way  back  in  the 
fifties,"  when  every  ripple  of  the  Columbia  River 
and  her  tributaries  hid  covert  danger.  God  had 
dowered  him  with  a  queer,  crooked  gift  of  expres- 
sion and  a  fierce  anxiety  for  the  welfare  of  his  two 
little  sons  —  tanned  and  reserved  children,  who 
attended  school  daily  and  spoke  good  English  in  a 
strange  tongue. 

His  wife  was  an  austere  woman,  who  had  once 
been  kindly,  and  perhaps  handsome. 

Very  many  years  of  toil  had  taken  the  elasticity 
out  of  step  and  voice.  She  looked  for  nothing 
better  than  everlasting  work  —  the  chafing  detail 
of  housework  —  and  then  a  grave  somewhere  up 
the  hill  among  the  blackberries  and  the  pines. 


72  American  Notes 

But  in  her  grim  way  she  sympathized  with  her 
eldest  daughter,  a  small  and  silent  maiden  of 
eighteen,  who  had  thoughts  very  far  from  the  meals 
she  tended  and  the  pans  she  scoured. 

We  stumbled  into  the  household  at  a  crisis,  and 
there  was  a  deal  of  downright  humanity  in  that 
same.  A  bad,  wicked  dress-maker  had  promised 
the  maiden  a  dress  in  time  for  a  to-morrow's  rail- 
way journey,  and  though  the  barefooted  Georgy, 
who  stood  in  very  wholesome  awe  of  his  sister, 
had  scoured  the  woods  on  a  pony  in  search,  that 
dress  never  arrived.  So,  with  sorrow  in  her  heart 
and  a  hundred  Sister-Anne  glances  up  the  road, 
she  waited  upon  the  strangers  and,  I  doubt  not, 
cursed  them  for  the  wants  that  stood  between  her 
and  her  need  for  tears.  It  was  a  genuine  little 
tragedy.  The  mother,  in  a  heavy,  passionless 
voice,  rebuked  her  impatience,  yet  sat  up  far  into 
the  night,  bowed  over  a  heap  of  sewing  for  the 
daughter's  benefit. 

These  things  I  beheld  in  the  long  marigold- 
scented  twilight  and  whispering  night,  loafing 
round  the  little  house  with  California,  who  un- 
folded himself  like  a  lotus  to  the  moon,  or  in  the 
little  boarded  bunk  that  was  our  bedroom,  swap- 
ping tales  with  Portland  and  the  old  man. 


American  Salmon  73 

Most  of  the  yarns  began  in  this  way  :  — 
"  Red  Larry  was  a  bull-puncher  back  of  Lone 
County,  Montana,"  or  "  There  was  a  man  riding 
the  trail  met  a  jack-rabbit  sitting  in  a  cactus,"  or 
"  'Bout  the  time  of  the  San  Diego  land  boom,  a 
woman  from  Monterey,"  etc. 

You  can  try  to  piece  out  for  yourselves  what 
sort  of  stories  they  were. 


IV 
The  Yellowstone 


/~\NCE  upon  a  time  there  was  a  carter  who 
^^  brought  his  team  and  a  friend  into  the  Yel- 
lowstone Park  without  due  thought.  Presently 
they  came  upon  a  few  of  the  natural  beauties  of 
the  place,  and  that  carter  turned  his  team  into  his 
friend's  team,  howling  :  — 

"  Get  out  o'  this,  Jim.  All  hell 's  alight  under 
our  noses !  " 

And  they  called  the  place  Hell's  Half-Acre  to 
this  day  to  witness  if  the  carter  lied. 

We,  too,  the  old  lady  from  Chicago,  her  hus- 
band, Tom,  and  the  good  little  mares,  came  to 
Hell's  Half-Acre,  which  is  about  sixty  acres  in 
extent,  and  when  Tom  said  :  — 

"  Would  you  like  to  drive  over  it  ?  " 

We  said :  — 

"  Certainly  not,  and  if  you  do  we  shall  report 
you  to  the  park  authorities." 


The  Yellowstone  75 

There  was  a  plain,  blistered,  peeled,  and  abomi- 
nable, and  it  was  given  over  to  the  sportings  and 
spoutings  of  devils  who  threw  mud,  and  steam,  and 
dirt  at  each  other  with  whoops,  and  halloos,  and 
bellowing  curses. 

The  places  smelled  of  the  refuse  of  the  pit,  and 
that  odor  mixed  with  the  clean,  wholesome  aroma 
of  the  pines  in  our  nostrils  throughout  the  day. 

This  Yellowstone  Park  is  laid  out  like  Ollen- 
dorf,  in  exercises  of  progressive  difficulty.  Hell's 
Half-Acre  was  a  prelude  to  ten  or  twelve  miles  of 
geyser  formation. 

We  passed  hot  streams  boiling  in  the  forest ; 
saw  whiffs  of  steam  beyond  these,  and  yet  other 
whiffs  breaking  through  the  misty  green  hills  in 
the  far  distance ;  we  trampled  on  sulphur  in 
crystals,  and  sniffed  things  much  worse  than  any 
sulphur  which  is  known  to  the  upper  world  ;  and 
so  journeying,  bewildered  with  the  novelty,  came 
upon  a  really  park-like  place  where  Tom  suggested 
we  should  get  out  and  play  with  the  geysers  on 
foot. 

Imagine  mighty  green  fields  splattered  with  lime- 
beds,  all  the  flowers  of  the  summer  growing  up  to 
the  very  edge  of  the  lime.  That  was  our  first 
glimpse  of  the  geyser  basins. 


76  American  Notes 

The  buggy  had  pulled  up  close  to  a  rough, 
broken,  blistered  cone  of  spelter  stuff  between  ten 
and  twenty  feet  high.  There  was  trouble  in  that 
place  —  moaning,  splashing,  gurgling,  and  the 
clank  of  machinery.  A  spurt  of  boiling  water 
jumped  into  the  air,  and  a  wash  of  water  fol- 
lowed. 

I  removed  swiftly.  The  old  lady  from  Chicago 
shrieked.  "  What  a  wicked  waste !  "  said  her 
husband. 

I  think  they  call  it  the  Riverside  Geyser.  Its 
spout  was  torn  and  ragged  like  the  mouth  of  a 
gun  when  a  shell  has  burst  there.  It  grumbled 
madly  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  was  still. 
I  crept  over  the  steaming  lime  —  it  was  the  burn- 
ing marl  on  which  Satan  lay  —  and  looked  fear- 
fully down  its  mouth.  You  should  never  look  a 
gift  geyser  in  the  mouth. 

I  beheld  a  horrible,  slippery,  slimy  funnel  with 
water  rising  and  falling  ten  feet  at  a  time.  Then 
the  water  rose  to  lip  level  with  a  rush,  and  an 
infernal  bubbling  troubled  this  Devil's  Bethesda 
before  the  sullen  heave  of  the  crest  of  a  wave 
lapped  over  the  edge  and  made  me  run. 

Mark  the  nature  of  the  human  soul !  I  had 
begun  with  awe,  not  to  say  terror,  for  this  was  my 


The  Yellowstone  77 

first  experience  of  such  things.  I  stepped  back 
from  the  banks  of  the  Riverside  Geyser,  saying  :  — 

"  Pooh  !    Is  that  all  it  can  do  ?  " 

Yet  for  aught  I  knew,  the  whole  thing  might 
have  blown  up  at  a  minute's  notice,  she,  he,  or  it 
being  an  arrangement  of  uncertain  temper. 

We  drifted  on,  up  that  miraculous  valley.  On 
either  side  of  us  were  hills  from  a  thousand  or 
fifteen  hundred  feet  high,  wooded  from  crest  to 
heel.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  range  forward  were 
columns  of  steam  in  the  air,  misshapen  lumps  of 
lime,  mist-like  preadamite  monsters,  still  pools 
of  turquoise-blue  stretches  of  blue  corn-flowers,  a 
river  that  coiled  on  itself  twenty  times,  pointed 
bowlders  of  strange  colors,  and  ridges  of  glaring, 
staring  white. 

A  moon-faced  trooper  of  German  extraction  — 
never  was  park  so  carefully  patrolled  —  came  up 
to  inform  us  that  as  yet  we  had  not  seen  any  of 
the  real  geysers ;  that  they  were  all  a  mile  or  so 
up  the  valley,  and  tastefully  scattered  round  the 
hotel  in  which  we  would  rest  for  the  night. 

America  is  a  free  country,  but  the  citizens  look 
down  on  the  soldier.  I  had  to  entertain  that 
trooper.  The  old  lady  from  Chicago  would  have 
none  of  him;  so  we  loafed  alone  together,  now 


78  American  Notes 

across  half-rotten  pine  logs  sunk  in  swampy 
ground,  anon  over  the  ringing  geyser  formation, 
then  pounding  through  river-sand  or  brushing 
knee-deep  through  long  grass. 

"  And  why  did  you  enlist  ?  "   said  I. 

The  moon-faced  one's  face  began  to  work.  I 
thought  he  would  have  a  fit,  but  he  told  me  a 
story  instead  —  such  a  nice  tale  of  a  naughty  little 
girl  who  wrote  pretty  love  letters  to  two  men  at 
once.  She  was  a  simple  village  wife,  but  a  wicked 
"  family  novelette "  countess  could  n't  have  ac- 
complished her  ends  better.  She  drove  one  man 
nearly  wild  with  the  pretty  little  treachery,  and 
the  other  man  abandoned  her  and  came  West  to 
forget  the  trickery. 

Moon-face  was  that  man. 

We  rounded  and  limped  over  a  low  spur  of  hill, 
and  came  out  upon  a  field  of  aching,  snowy  lime 
rolled  in  sheets,  twisted  into  knots,  riven  with 
rents,  and  diamonds,  and  stars,  stretching  for  more 
than  half  a  mile  in  every  direction. 

On  this  place  of  despair  lay  most  of  the  big,  bad 
geysers  who  know  when  there  is  trouble  in  Kra- 
katoa,  who  tell  the  pines  when  there  is  a  cyclone 
on  the  Atlantic  seaboard,  and  who  are  exhibited 
to  visitors  under  pretty  and  fanciful  names. 


The  Yellowstone  79 

The  first  mound  that  I  encountered  belonged  to 
a  goblin  who  was  splashing  in  his  tub. 

I  heard  him  kick,  pull  a  shower-bath  on  his 
shoulders,  gasp,  crack  his  joints,  and  rub  himself 
down  with  a  towel ;  then  he  let  the  water  out  of 
the  bath,  as  a  thoughtful  man  should,  and  it  all 
sunk  down  out  of  sight  till  another  goblin  arrived. 

So  we  looked  and  we  wondered  at  the  Beehive, 
whose  mouth  is  built  up  exactly  like  a  hive,  at  the 
Turban  (which  is  not  in  the  least  like  a  turban), 
and  at  many,  many  other  geysers,  hot  holes,  and 
springs.  Some  of  them  rumbled,  some  hissed, 
some  went  off  spasmodically,  and  others  lay  dead 
still  in  sheets  of  sapphire  and  beryl. 

Would  you  believe  that  even  these  terrible 
creatures  have  to  be  guarded  by  the  troopers  to 
prevent  the  irreverent  Americans  from  chipping 
the  cones  to  pieces,  or,  worse  still,  making  the 
geyser  sick  ?  If  you  take  a  small  barrel  full  of 
soft-soap  and  drop  it  down  a  geyser's  mouth,  that 
geyser  will  presently  be  forced  to  lay  all  before 
you,  and  for  days  afterward  will  be  of  an  irritated 
and  inconstant  stomach. 

When  they  told  me  the  tale  I  was  filled  with 
sympathy.  Now  I  wish  that  I  had  soft-soap  and 
tried  the  experiment  on  some  lonely  little  beast 


8o  American  Notes 

far  away  in  the  woods.  It  sounds  so  probable 
and  so  human. 

Yet  he  would  be  a  bold  man  who  would  admin- 
ister emetics  to  the  Giantess.  She  is  flat-lipped, 
having  no  mouth ;  she  looks  like  a  pool,  fifty  feet 
long  and  thirty  wide,  and  there  is  no  ornamentation 
about  her.  At  irregular  intervals  she  speaks  and 
sends  up  a  volume  of  water  over  two  hundred  feet 
high  to  begin  with,  then  she  is  angry  for  a  day 
and  a  half — sometimes  for  two  days. 

Owing  to  her  peculiarity  of  going  mad  in  the 
night,  not  many  people  have  seen  the  Giantess  at 
her  finest ;  but  the  clamor  of  her  unrest,  men 
say,  shakes  the  wooden  hotel,  and  echoes  like 
thunder  among  the  hills. 

The  congregation  returned  to  the  hotel  to  put 
down  their  impressions  in  diaries  and  note-books, 
which  they  wrote  up  ostentatiously  in  the  verandas. 
It  was  a  sweltering  hot  day,  albeit  we  stood  some- 
what higher  than  the  level  of  Simla,  and  I  left 
that  raw  pine  creaking  caravansary  for  the  cool 
shade  of  a  clump  of  pines  between  whose  trunks 
glimmered  tents. 

A  batch  of  United  States  troopers  came  down 
the  road  and  flung  themselves  across  the  country 
into  their  rough  lines.  The  Melican  cavalryman 


The  Yellowstone  8 1 

can  ride,  though  he  keeps  his  accoutrements  pig- 
fashion  and  his  horse  cow-fashion. 

I  was  free  of  that  camp  in  five  minutes  —  free 
to  play  with  the  heavy,  lumpy  carbines,  have  the 
saddles  stripped,  and  punch  the  horses  knowingly 
in  the  ribs.  One  of  the  men  had  been  in  the 
fight  with  "  Wrap-up-his-Tail,"  and  he  told  me 
how  that  great  chief,  his  horse's  tail  tied  up  in 
red  calico,  swaggered  in  front  of  the  United  States 
cavalry,  challenging  all  to  single  combat.  But 
he  was  slain,  and  a  few  of  his  tribe  with  him. 

"  There  's  no  use  in  an  Indian,  anyway,"  con- 
cluded my  friend. 

A  couple  of  cow-boys  —  real  cow-boys  — 
jingled  through  the  camp  amid  a  shower  of  mild 
chaff.  They  were  on  their  way  to  Cook  City,  I 
fancy,  and  I  know  that  they  never  washed.  But 
they  were  picturesque  ruffians  exceedingly,  with 
long  spurs,  hooded  stirrups,  slouch  hats,  fur 
weather-cloth  over  their  knees,  and  pistol-butts 
just  easy  to  hand. 

u  The  cow-boy 's  goin'  under  before  long," 
said  my  friend.  "  Soon  as  the  country  's  settled 
up  he  '11  have  to  go.  But  he 's  mighty  useful 
now.  What  would  we  do  without  the  cow-boy  ?  " 

"  As  how  ? "  said  I,  and  the  camp  laughed. 
6 


8  2  American  Notes 

"  He  has  the  money.  We  have  the  skill.  He 
comes  in  winter  to  play  poker  at  the  military 
posts.  We  play  poker  —  a  few.  When  he 's 
lost  his  money  we  make  him  drunk  and  let  him 
go.  Sometimes  we  get  the  wrong  man." 

And  he  told  me  a  tale  of  an  innocent  cow- 
boy who  turned  up,  cleaned  out,  at  an  army  post, 
and  played  poker  for  thirty-six  hours.  But  it  was 
the  post  that  was  cleaned  out  when  that  long- 
haired Caucasian  removed  himself,  heavy  with 
everybody's  pay  and  declining  the  proffered  liquor. 

u  Noaw,"  said  the  historian,  "  I  don't  play  with 
no  cow-boy  unless  he  's  a  little  bit  drunk  first." 

Ere  I  departed  I  gathered  from  more  than  one 
man  the  significant  fact  that  up  to  one  hundred 
yards  he  felt  absolutely  secure  behind  his  revolver. 

u  In  England,  I  understand,"  quoth  the  limber 
youth  from  the  South,  —  "in  England  a  man  isn't 
allowed  to  play  with  no  fire-arms.  He  's  got  to 
be  taught  all  that  when  he  enlists.  I  did  n't  want 
much  teaching  how  to  shoot  straight  'fore  I  served 
Uncle  Sam.  And  that 's  just  where  it  is.  But 
you  was  talking  about  your  Horse  Guards  now  ?  " 

I  explained  briefly  some  peculiarities  of  equip- 
ment connected  with  our  crackest  crack  cavalry. 
I  grieve  to  say  the  camp  roared. 


The  Yellowstone  83 

"  Take  'em  over  swampy  ground.  Let  'em 
run  around  a  bit  an'  work  the  starch  out  of  'em, 
an'  then,  Almighty,  if  we  would  n't  plug  'em  at 
ease  1  'd  eat  their  horses." 

There  was  a  maiden  —  a  very  little  maiden  — 
who  had  just  stepped  out  of  one  of  James's  novels. 
She  owned  a  delightful  mother  and  an  equally 
delightful  father  —  a  heavy-eyed,  slow-voiced  man 
of  finance.  The  parents  thought  that  their 
daughter  wanted  change. 

She  lived  in  New  Hampshire.  Accordingly, 
she  had  dragged  them  up  to  Alaska  and  to  the 
Yosemite  Valley,  and  was  now  returning  leisurely, 
via  the  Yellowstone,  just  in  time  for  the  tail-end 
of  the  summer  season  at  Saratoga. 

We  had  met  once  or  twice  before  in  the  park, 
and  I  had  been  amazed  and  amused  at  her  critical 
commendation  of  the  wonders  that  she  saw. 
From  that  very  resolute  little  mouth  I  received  a 
lecture  on  American  literature,  the  nature  and 
inwardness  of  Washington  society,  the  precise 
value  of  Cable's  works  as  compared  with  Uncle 
Remus  Harris,  and  a  few  other  things  that  had 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  geysers,  but  were 
altogether  pleasant. 

Now,  an  English  maiden  who  had  stumbled  on 


84  American  Notes 

a  dust-grimed,  lime-washed,  sun-peeled,  collarless 
wanderer  come  from  and  going  to  goodness  knows 
where,  would,  her  mother  inciting  her  and  her 
father  brandishing  his  umbrella,  have  regarded  him 
as  a  dissolute  adventurer  —  a  person  to  be  dis- 
regarded. 

Not  so  those  delightful  people  from  New 
Hampshire.  They  were  good  enough  to  treat 
him  —  it  sounds  almost  incredible  —  as  a  human 
being,  possibly  respectable,  probably  not  in  im- 
mediate need  of  financial  assistance. 

Papa  talked  pleasantly  and  to  the  point. 

The  little  maiden  strove  valiantly  with  the 
accent  of  her  birth  and  that  of  her  rearing,  and 
mamma  smiled  benignly  in  the  background. 

Balance  this  with  a  story  of  a  young  English 
idiot  I  met  mooning  about  inside  his  high  collar, 
attended  by  a  valet.  He  condescended  to  tell  me 
that  "  you  can't  be  too  careful  who  you  talk  to 
in  these  parts."  And  stalked  on,  fearing,  I 
suppose,  every  minute  for  his  social  chastity. 

That  man  was  a  barbarian  (I  took  occasion  to 
tell  him  so),  for  he  comported  himself  after  the 
manner  of  the  head-hunters  and  hunted  of  Assam 
who  are  at  perpetual  feud  one  with  another. 

You  will  understand  that  these  foolish  stories 


The  Yellowstone  85 

are  introduced  in  order  to  cover  the  fact  that  this 
pen  cannot  describe  the  glories  of  the  Upper 
Geyser  Basin.  The  evening  I  spent  under  the 
lee  of  the  Castle  Geyser,  sitting  on  a  log  with 
some  troopers  and  watching  a  baronial  keep  forty 
feet  high  spouting  hot  water.  If  the  Castle  went 
off  first,  they  said  the  Giantess  would  be  quiet, 
and  vice  versa,  and  then  they  told  tales  till  the 
moon  got  up  and  a  party  of  campers  in  the  woods 
gave  us  all  something  to  eat. 

Then  came  soft,  turfy  forest  that  deadened  the 
wheels,  and  two  troopers  on  detachment  duty  stole 
noiselessly  behind  us.  One  was  the  Wrap-up- 
his-Tail  man,  and  they  talked  merrily  while  the 
half-broken  horses  bucked  about  among  the  trees. 
And  so  a  cavalry  escort  was  with  us  for  a  mile, 
till  we  got  to  a  mighty  hill  all  strewn  with  moss 
agates,  and  everybody  had  to  jump  out  and  pant 
in  that  thin  air.  But  how  intoxicating  it  was ! 
The  old  lady  from  Chicago  ducked  like  an  eman- 
cipated hen  as  she  scuttled  about  the  road,  cram- 
ming pieces  of  rock  into  her  reticule.  She  sent  me 
fifty  yards  down  to  the  hill-side  to  pick  up  a  piece 
of  broken  bottle  which  she  insisted  was  moss  agate. 

"  I  've  some  o'  that  at  home,  an'  they  shine. 
Yes,  you  go  get  it,  young  man." 


86  American  Notes 

As  we  climbed  the  long  path  the  road  grew 
viler  and  viler  till  it  became,  without  disguise,  the 
bed  of  a  torrent ;  and  just  when  things  were  at 
their  rockiest  we  nearly  fell  into  a  little  sapphire 
lake  —  but  never  sapphire  was  so  blue  —  called 
Mary's  Lake;  and  that  between  eight  and  nine 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea. 

Afterward,  grass  downs,  all  on  a  vehement 
slope,  so  that  the  buggy,  following  the  new-made 
road,  ran  on  the  two  off-wheels  mostly  till  we 
dipped  head-first  into  a  ford,  climbed  up  a  cliff, 
raced  along  down,  dipped  again,  and  pulled  up  di- 
shevelled at  "Larry's"  for  lunch  and  an  hour's  rest. 

Then  we  lay  on  the  grass  and  laughed  with 
sheer  bliss  of  being  alive.  This  have  I  known 
once  in  Japan,  once  on  the  banks  of  the  Colum- 
bia, what  time  the  salmon  came  in  and  California 
howled,  and  once  again  in  the  Yellowstone  by  the 
light  of  the  eyes  of  the  maiden  from  New  Hamp- 
shire. Four  little  pools  lay  at  my  elbow,  one  was 
of  black  water  (tepid),  one  clear  water  (cold),  one 
clear  water  (hot),  one  red  water  (boiling).  My 
newly  washed  handkerchief  covered  them  all,  and 
we  two  marvelled  as  children  marvel. 

"  This  evening  we  shall  do  the  Grand  Canyon 
of  the  Yellowstone,"  said  the  maiden. 


The  Yellowstone  87 

"  Together  ? "  said  I ;  and  she  said,  "  Yes." 

The  sun  was  beginning  to  sink  when  we  heard 
the  roar  of  falling  waters  and  came  to  a  broad 
river  along  whose  banks  we  ran.  And  then  —  I 
might  at  a  pinch  describe  the  infernal  regions,  but 
not  the  other  place.  The  Yellowstone  River  has 
occasion  to  run  through  a  gorge  about  eight  miles 
long.  To  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  gorge  it  makes 
two  leaps,  one  of  about  one  hundred  and  twenty  and 
the  other  of  three  hundred  feet.  I  investigated  the 
upper  or  lesser  fall,  which  is  close  to  the  hotel. 

Up  to  that  time  nothing  particular  happens  to 
the  Yellowstone  —  its  banks  being  only  rocky, 
rather  steep,  and  plentifully  adorned  with  pines. 

At  the  falls  it  comes  round  a  corner,  green, 
solid,  ribbed  with  a  little  foam,  and  not  more  than 
thirty  yards  wide.  Then  it  goes  over,  still  green, 
and  rather  more  solid  than  before.  After  a  min- 
ute or  two,  you,  sitting  upon  a  rock  directly  above 
the  drop,  begin  to  understand  that  something  has 
occurred;  that  the  river  has  jumped  between  solid 
cliff  walls,  and  that  the  gentle  froth  of  water  lap- 
ping the  sides  of  the  gorge  below  is  really  the 
outcome  of  great  waves. 

And  the  river  yells  aloud ;  but  the  cliffs  do  not 
allow  the  yells  to  escape. 


88  American  Notes 

That  inspection  began  with  curiosity  and 
finished  in  terror,  for  it  seemed  that  the  whole 
world  was  sliding  in  chrysolite  from  under  my 
feet.  I  followed  with  the  others  round  the  corner 
to  arrive  at  the  brink  of  the  canyon.  We  had  to 
climb  up  a  nearly  perpendicular  ascent  to  begin 
with,  for  the  ground  rises  more  than  the  river 
drops.  Stately  pine  woods  fringe  either  lip  of  the 
gorge,  which  is  the  gorge  of  the  Yellowstone. 
You  '11  find  all  about  it  in  the  guide  books. 

All  that  I  can  say  is  that  without  warning  or 
preparation  I  looked  into  a  gulf  seventeen  hundred 
feet  deep,  with  eagles  and  fish-hawks  circling  far 
below.  And  the  sides  of  that  gulf  were  one  wild 
welter  of  color  —  crimson,  emerald,  cobalt,  ochre, 
amber,  honey  splashed  with  port  wine,  snow  white, 
vermilion,  lemon,  and  silver  gray  in  wide  washes. 
The  sides  did  not  fall  sheer,  but  were  graven  by 
time,  and  water,  and  air  into  monstrous  heads  of 
kings,  dead  chiefs  —  men  and  women  of  the  old 
time.  So  far  below  that  no  sound  of  its  strife 
could  reach  us,  the  Yellowstone  River  ran  a  finger- 
wide  strip  of  jade  green. 

The  sunlight  took  those  wondrous  walls  and 
gave  fresh  hues  to  those  that  nature  had  already 
laid  there. 


The  Yellowstone  89 

Evening  crept  through  the  pines  that  shadowed 
us,  but  the  full  glory  of  the  day  flamed  in  that 
canyon  as  we  went  out  very  cautiously  to  a  jut- 
ting piece  of  rock  —  blood-red  or  pink  it  was  — 
that  overhung  the  deepest  deeps  of  all. 

Now  I  know  what  it  is  to  sit  enthroned  amid  the 
clouds  of  sunset  as  the  spirits  sit  in  Blake's  pictures. 
Giddiness  took  away  all  sensation  of  touch  or 
form,  but  the  sense  of  blinding  color  remained. 

When  I  reached  the  mainland  again  I  had 
sworn  that  I  had  been  floating. 

The  maid  from  New  Hampshire  said  no  word  for 
a  very  long  time.  Then  she  quoted  poetry,  which 
was  perhaps  the  best  thing  she  could  have  done. 

"  And  to  think  that  this  show-place  has  been 
going  on  all  these  days  an'  none  of  we  ever  saw 
it,"  said  the  old  lady  from  Chicago,  with  an  acid 
glance  at  her  husband. 

"No,  only  thejnjians,"  said  he,  unmoved  ;  and 
the  maiden  and  I  laughed. 

Inspiration  is  fleeting,  beauty  is  vain,  and  the 
power  of  the  mind  for  wonder  limited.  Though 
the  shining  hosts  themselves  had  risen  choiring 
from  the  bottom  of  the  gorge,  they  would  not  have 
prevented  her  papa  and  one  baser  than  he  from 
rolling  stones  down  those  stupendous  rainbow- 


90  American  Notes 

washed  slides.  Seventeen  hundred  feet  of  steep- 
est pitch  and  rather  more  than  seventeen  hundred 
colors  for  log  or  bowlder  to  whirl  through  ! 

So  we  heaved  things  and  saw  them  gather  way 
and  bound  from  white  rock  to  red  or  yellow,  drag- 
ging behind  them  torrents  of  color,  till  the  noise 
of  their  descent  ceased  and  they  bounded  a  hun- 
dred yards  clear  at  the  last  into  the  Yellowstone. 

"  I  've  been  down  there,"  said  Tom,  that  even- 
ing. "  It 's  easy  to  get  down  if  you  're  careful  — 
just  sit  an'  slide  ;  but  getting  up  is  worse.  An'  I 
found  down  below  there  two  stones  just  marked 
with  a  picture  of  the  canyon.  I  would  n't  sell 
these  rocks  not  for  fifteen  dollars." 

And  papa  and  I  crawled  down  to  the  Yellow- 
stone— just  above  the  first  little  fall  —  to  wet  a 
line  for  good  luck.  The  round  moon  came  up 
and  turned  the  cliffs  and  pines  into  silver ;  and  a 
two-pound  trout  came  up  also,  and  we  slew  him 
among  the  rocks,  nearly  tumbling  into  that  wild 
river. 

Then  out  and  away  to  Livingstone  once  more. 
The  maiden  from  New  Hampshire  disappeared, 
papa  and  mamma,  with  her.  Disappeared,  too,  the 
old  lady  from  Chicago,  and  the  others. 


V 
Chicago 


"I  know  thy  cunning  and  thy  greed, 
Thy  hard  high  lust  and  wilful  deed, 
And  all  thy  glory  loves  to  tell 
Of  specious  gifts  material." 

T  HAVE  struck  a  city  —  a  real  city  —  and  they 
-*•  call  it  Chicago. 

The  other  places  do  not  count.  San  Francisco 
was  a  pleasure-resort  as  well  as  a  city,  and  Salt 
Lake  was  a  phenomenon. 

This  place  is  the  first  American  city  I  have 
encountered.  It  holds  rather  more  than  a  million 
of  people  with  bodies,  and  stands  on  the  same  sort 
of  soil  as  Calcutta.  Having  seen  it,  I  urgently 
desire  never  to  see  it  again.  It  is  inhabited  by 
savages.  Its  water  is  the  water  of  the  Hooghly, 
and  its  air  is  dirt.  Also  it  says  that  it  is  the 
"boss"  town  of  America. 


92  American  Notes 

I  do  not  believe  that  it  has  anything  to  do  with 
this  country.  They  told  me  to  go  to  the  Palmer 
House,  which  is  overmuch  gilded  and  mirrored, 
and  there  I  found  a  huge  hall  of  tessellated  marble 
crammed  with  people  talking  about  money,  and 
spitting  about  everywhere.  Other  barbarians 
charged  in  and  out  of  this  inferno  with  letters 
and  telegrams  in  their  hands,  and  yet  others 
shouted  at  each  other.  A  man  who  had  drunk 
quite  as  much  as  was  good  for  him  told  me  that 
this  was  "  the  finest  hotel  in  the  finest  city  on 
God  Almighty's  earth."  By  the  way,  when  an 
American  wishes  to  indicate  the  next  country  or 
state,  he  says,  "  God  A'mighty's  earth."  This 
prevents  discussion  and  flatters  his  vanity. 

Then  I  went  out  into  the  streets,  which  are 
long  and  flat  and  without  end.  And  verily  it  is 
not  a  good  thing  to  live  in  the  East  for  any  length 
of  time.  Your  ideas  grow  to  clash  with  those 
held  by  every  right-thinking  man.  I  looked  down 
interminable  vistas  flanked  with  nine,  ten,  and 
fifteen-storied  houses,  and  crowded  with  men  and 
women,  and  the  show  impressed  me  with  a  great 
horror. 

Except  in  London  —  and  I  have  forgotten  what 
London  was  like  —  I  had  never  seen  so  many 


Chicago  93 

white  people  together,  and  never  such  a  collection 
of  miserables.  There  was  no  color  in  the  street 
and  no  beauty  —  only  a  maze  of  wire  ropes  over- 
head and  dirty  stone  flagging  under  foot. 

A  cab-driver  volunteered  to  show  me  the  glory 
of  the  town  for  so  much  an  hour,  and  with  him  I 
wandered  far.  He  conceived  that  all  this  turmoil 
and  squash  was  a  thing  to  be  reverently  admired, 
that  it  was  good  to  huddle  men  together  in  fifteen 
layers,  one  atop  of  the  other,  and  to  dig  holes  in 
the  ground  for  offices. 

He  said  that  Chicago  was  a  live  town,  and  that 
all  the  creatures  hurrying  by  me  were  engaged  in 
business.  That  is  to  say  they  were  trying  to 
make  some  money  that  they  might  not  die  through 
lack  of  food  to  put  into  their  bellies.  He  took 
me  to  canals  as  black  as  ink,  and  filled  with  un- 
told abominations,  and  bid  me  watch  the  stream 
of  traffic  across  the  bridges. 

He  then  took  me  into  a  saloon,  and  while  I 
drank  made  me  note  that  the  floor  was  covered 
with  coins  sunk  in  cement.  A  Hottentot  would 
not  have  been  guilty  of  this  sort  of  barbarism. 
The  coins  made  an  effect  pretty  enough,  but  the 
man  who  put  them  there  had  no  thought  of  beauty, 
and,  therefore,  he  was  a  savage. 


94  American  Notes 

Then  my  cab-driver  showed  me  business  blocks 
gay  with  signs  and  studded  with  fantastic  and 
absurd  advertisements  of  goods,  and  looking  down 
the  long  street  so  adorned,  it  was  as  though  each 
vender  stood  at  his  door  howling  :  — 

"  For  the  sake  of  money,  employ  or  buy  of 
me,  and  me  only !  " 

Have  you  ever  seen  a  crowd  at  a  famine-relief 
distribution  ?  You  know  then  how  the  men  leap 
into  the  air,  stretching  out  their  arms  above  the 
crowd  in  the  hope  of  being  seen,  while  the  women 
dolorously  slap  the  stomachs  of  their  children  and 
whimper.  I  had  sooner  watch  famine  relief  than 
the  white  man  engaged  in  what  he  calls  legitimate 
competition.  The  one  I  understand.  The  other 
makes  me  ill. 

And  the  cabman  said  that  these  things  were 
the  proof  of  progress,  and  by  that  I  knew  he  had 
been  reading  his  newspaper,  as  every  intelligent 
American  should.  The  papers  tell  their  clientele 
in  language  fitted  to  their  comprehension  that  the 
snarling  together  of  telegraph-wires,  the  heaving 
up  of  houses,  and  the  making  of  money  is  progress. 

I  spent  ten  hours  in  that  huge  wilderness,  wan- 
dering through  scores  of  miles  of  these  terrible 
streets  and  jostling  some  few  hundred  thousand  of 


Chicago  95 

these  terrible  people  who  talked  paisa  bat  through 
their  noses. 

The  cabman  left  me ;  but  after  awhile  I  picked 
up  another  man,  who  was  full  of  figures,  and  into 
my  ears  he  poured  them  as  occasion  required  or 
the  big  blank  factories  suggested.  Here  they 
turned  out  so  many  hundred  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  such  and  such  an  article ;  there  so 
many  million  other  things;  this  house  was  worth 
so  many  million  dollars ;  that  one  so  many  million, 
more  or  less.  It  was  like  listening  to  a  child 
babbling  of  its  hoard  of  shells.  It  was  like  watch- 
ing a  fool  playing  with  buttons.  But  I  was 
expected  to  do  more  than  listen  or  watch.  He 
demanded  that  I  should  admire;  and  the  utmost 
that  I  could  say  was  :  — 

"  Are  these  things  so  ?  Then  I  am  very  sorry 
for  you." 

That  made  him  angry,  and  he  said  that  insular 
envy  made  me  unresponsive.  So,  you  see,  I  could 
not  make  him  understand. 

About  four  and  a  half  hours  after  Adam  was 
turned  out  of  the  Garden  of  Eden  he  felt  hungry, 
and  so,  bidding  Eve  take  care  that  her  head  was 
not  broken  by  the  descending  fruit,  shinned  up 
a  cocoanut-palm.  That  hurt  his  legs,  cut  his 


96  American  Notes 

breast,  and  made  him  breathe  heavily,  and  Eve 
was  tormented  with  fear  lest  her  lord  should  miss 
his  footing,  and  so  bring  the  tragedy  of  this  world 
to  an  end  ere  the  curtain  had  fairly  risen.  Had  I 
met  Adam  then,  I  should  have  been  sorry  for  him. 
To-day  I  find  eleven  hundred  thousand  of  his 
sons  just  as  far  advanced  as  their  father  in  the 
art  of  getting  food,  and  immeasurably  inferior  to 
him  in  that  they  think  that  their  palm-trees  lead 
straight  to  the  skies.  Consequently,  I  am  sorry 
in  rather  more  than  a  million  different  ways. 

In  the  East  bread  comes  naturally,  even  to  the 
poorest,  by  a  little  scratching  or  the  gift  of  a  friend 
hot  quite  so  poor.  In  less  favored  countries  one 
is  apt  to  forget.  Then  I  went  to  bed.  And  that 
was  on  a  Saturday  night. 

Sunday  brought  me  the  queerest  experiences  of 
all — a  revelation  of  barbarism  complete.  I  found 
a  place  that  was  officially  described  as  a  church. 
It  was  a  circus  really,  but  that  the  worshippers  did 
not  know.  There  were  flowers  all  about  the 
building,  which  was  fitted  up  with  plush  and 
stained  oak  and  much  luxury,  including  twisted 
brass  candlesticks  of  severest  Gothic  design. 

To  these  things  and  a  congregation  of  savages 
entered  suddenly  a  wonderful  man,  completely  in 


Chicago  97 

the  confidence  of  their  God,  whom  he  treated 
colloquially  and  exploited  very  much  as  a  news- 
paper reporter  would  exploit  a  foreign  potentate. 
But,  unlike  the  newspaper  reporter,  he  never 
allowed  his  listeners  to  forget  that  he,  and  not  He, 
was  the  centre  of  attraction.  With  a  voice  of 
silver  and  with  imagery  borrowed  from  the 
auction-room,  he  built  up  for  his  hearers  a 
heaven  on  the  lines  of  the  Palmer  House  (but 
with  all  the  gilding  real  gold,  and  all  the  plate- 
glass  diamond),  and  set  in  the  centre  of  it  a  loud- 
voiced,  argumentative,  very  shrewd  creation  that 
he  called  God.  One  sentence  at  this  point  caught 
my  delighted  ear.  It  was  apropos  of  some  ques- 
tion of  the  Judgment,  and  ran  :  — 

"  No  !  I  tell  you  God  does  n't  do  business  that 
way." 

He  was  giving  them  a  deity  whom  they  could 
comprehend,  and  a  gold  and  jewelled  heaven  in 
which  they  could  take  a  natural  interest.  He  in- 
terlarded his  performance  with  the  slang  of  the 
streets,  the  counter,  and  the  exchange,  and  he  said 
that  religion  ought  to  enter  into  daily  life.  Con- 
sequently, I  presume  he  introduced  it  as  daily  life 
—  his  own  and  the  life  of  his  friends. 

Then  I  escaped  before  the  blessing,  desiring  no 
7 


98  American  Notes 

benediction  at  such  hands.  But  the  persons  who 
listened  seemed  to  enjoy  themselves,  and  I  under- 
stood that  I  had  met  with  a  popular  preacher. 

Later  on,  when  I  had  perused  the  sermons  of 
a  gentleman  called  Talmage  and  some  others,  I 
perceived  that  I  had  been  listening  to  a  very  mild 
specimen.  Yet  that  man,  with  his  brutal  gold 
and  silver  idols,  his  hands-in-pocket,  cigar-in- 
mouth,  and  hat-on-the-back-of-the-head  style  of 
dealing  with  the  sacred  vessels,  would  count  him- 
self, spiritually,  quite  competent  to  send  a  mission 
to  convert  the  Indians. 

All  that  Sunday  I  listened  to  people  who  said 
that  the  mere  fact  of  spiking  down  strips  of  iron 
to  wood,  and  getting  a  steam  and  iron  thing  to 
run  along  them  was  progress,  that  the  telephone 
was  progress,  and  the  net-work  of  wires  overhead 
was  progress.  They  repeated  their  statements 
again  and  again. 

One  of  them  took  me  to  their  City  Hall  and 
Board  of  Trade  works,  and  pointed  it  out  with 
pride.  It  was  very  ugly,  but  very  big,  and  the 
streets  in  front  of  it  were  narrow  and  unclean. 
When  I  saw  the  faces  of  the  men  who  did  busi- 
ness in  that  building,  I  felt  that  there  had  been  a 
mistake  in  their  billeting. 


Chicago  99 

By  the  way,  't  is  a  consolation  to  feel  that  I  am 
not  writing  to  an  English  audience.  Then  I 
should  have  to  fall  into  feigned  ecstasies  over  the 
marvellous  progress  of  Chicago  since  the  days  of 
the  great  fire,  to  allude  casually  to  the  raising  of 
the  entire  city  so  many  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
lake  which  it  faces,  and  generally  to  grovel  before 
the  golden  calf.  But  you,  who  are  desperately 
poor,  and  therefore  by  these  standards  of  no  ac- 
count, know  things,  will  understand  when  I  write 
that  they  have  managed  to  get  a  million  of  men 
together  on  flat  land,  and  that  the  bulk  of  these 
men  together  appear  to  be  lower  than  Mahajans 
and  not  so  companionable  as  a  Punjabi  Jat  after 
harvest. 

But  I  don't  think  it  was  the  blind  hurry  of  the 
people,  their  argot ,  and  their  grand  ignorance  of 
t  things  beyond  their  immediate  interests  that  dis- 
pleased me  so  much  as  a  study  of  the  daily  papers 
of  Chicago. 

Imprimis,  there  was  some  sort  of  a  dispute 
between  New  York  and  Chicago  as  to  which 
town  should  give  an  exhibition  of  products  to  be 
hereafter  holden,  and  through  the  medium  of  their 
more  dignified  journals  the  two  cities  were  ya- 
hooing  and  hi-yi-ing  at  each  other  like  opposition 


ioo  American  Notes 

4 

newsboys.  They  called  it  humor,  but  it  sounded 
like  something  quite  different. 

That  was  only  the  first  trouble.  The  second 
lay  in  the  tone  of  the  productions.  Leading 
articles  which  include  gems  such  as  "  Back  of 
such  and  such  a  place,"  or,  "  We  noticed,  Tues- 
day, such  an  event,"  or,  "  don't "  for  "  does  not," 
are  things  to  be  accepted  with  thankfulness.  All 
that  made  me  want  to  cry  was  that  in  these  papers 
were  faithfully  reproduced  all  the  war-cries  and 
" back-talk"  of  the  Palmer  House  bar,  the  slang 
of  the  barber-shops,  the  mental  elevation  and  in- 
tegrity of  the  Pullman  car  porter,  the  dignity  of 
the  dime  museum,  and  the  accuracy  of  the  excited 
fish-wife.  I  am  sternly  forbidden  to  believe  that 
the  paper  educates  the  public.  Then  I  am  com- 
pelled to  believe  that  the  public  educate  the  paper ; 
yet  suicides  on  the  press  are  rare. 

Just  when  the  sense  of  unreality  and  oppression 
was  strongest  upon  me,  and  when  I  most  wanted 
help,  a  man  sat  at  my  side  and  began  to  talk  what 
he  called  politics. 

I  had  chanced  to  pay  about  six  shillings  for  a 
travelling-cap  worth  eighteen-pence,  and  he  made 
of  the  fact  a  text  for  a  sermon.  He  said  that  this 
was  a  rich  country,  and  that  the  people  liked  to 


Chicago  1 01 

pay  two  hundred  per  cent,  on  the  value  of  a  thing. 
They  could  afford  it.  He  said  that  the  govern- 
ment imposed  a  protective  duty  of  from  ten  to 
seventy  per  cent  on  foreign-made  articles,  and  that 
the  American  manufacturer  consequently  could 
sell  his  goods  for  a  healthy  sum.  Thus  an  im- 
ported hat  would,  with  duty,  cost  two  guineas. 
The  American  manufacturer  would  make  a  hat 
for  seventeen  shillings,  and  sell  it  for  one  pound 
fifteen.  In  these  things,  he  said,  lay  the  greatness 
of  America  and  the  effeteness  of  England.  Com- 
petition between  factory  and  factory  kept  the 
prices  down  to  decent  limits,  but  I  was  never  to 
forget  that  this  people  were  a  rich  people,  not  like 
the  pauper  Continentals,  and  that  they  enjoyed 
paying  duties. 

To  my  weak  intellect  this  seemed  rather  like 
juggling  with  counters.  Everything  that  I  have 
yet  purchased  costs  about  twice  as  much  as  it 
would  in  England,  and  when  native  made  is  of 
inferior  quality. 

Moreover,  since  these  lines  were  first  thought 
of,  I  have  visited  a  gentleman  who  owned  a 
factory  which  used  to  produce  things.  He  owned 
the  factory  still.  Not  a  man  was  in  it,  but  he 
was  drawing  a  handsome  income  from  a  syndicate 


IO2  American  Notes 

of  firms  for  keeping  it  closed,  in  order  that  it  might 
not  produce  things.  This  man  said  that  if  pro- 
tection were  abandoned,  a  tide  of  pauper  labor 
would  flood  the  country,  and  as  I  looked  at  his 
factory  I  thought  how  entirely  better  it  was  to 
have  no  labor  of  any  kind  whatever  rather  than 
face  so  horrible  a  future. 

Meantime,  do  you  remember  that  this  peculiar 
country  enjoys  paying  money  for  value  not  re- 
ceived ?  I  am  an  alien,  and  for  the  life  of  me  I 
cannot  see  why  six  shillings  should  be  paid  for 
eighteen-penny  caps,  or  eight  shillings  for  half- 
crown  cigar-cases.  When  the  country  fills  up  to  . 
a  decently  populated  level  a  few  million  people 
who  are  not  aliens  will  be  smitten  with  the  same 
sort  of  blindness. 

But  my  friend's  assertion  somehow  thoroughly 
suited  the  grotesque  ferocity  of  Chicago. 

See  now  and  judge !  In  the  village  of  Isser 
Jang,  on  the  road  to  Montgomery,  there  be  four 
Changar  women  who  winnow  corn  —  some  seventy 
bushels  a  year.  Beyond  their  hut  lives  Purun 
Dass,  the  money-lender,  who  on  good  security 
lends  as  much  as  five  thousand  rupees  in  a  year. 
Jowala  Singh,  the  smith,  mends  the  village  plows 
—  some  thirty,  broken  at  the  share,  in  three  hun- 


Chicago  103 

dred  and  sixty-five  days ;  and  Hukm  Chund,  who 
is  letter-writer  and  head  of  the  little  club  under 
the  travellers'  tree,  generally  keeps  the  village 
posted  in  such  gossip  as  the  barber  and  the  mid- 
wife have  not  yet  made  public  property. 

Chicago  husks  and  winnows  her  wheat  by  the 
million  bushels,  a  hundred  banks  lend  hundreds  of 
millions  of  dollars  in  the  year,  and  scores  of  facto- 
ries turn  out  plow-gear  and  machinery  by  steam. 
Scores  of  daily  papers  do  work  which  Hukm 
Chund  and  the  barber  and  the  midwife  perform, 
with  due  regard  for  public  opinion,  in  the  village 
of  Isser  Jang.  So  far  as  manufactories  go,  the 
difference  between  Chicago  on  the  lake,  and  Isser 
Jang  on  the  Montgomery  road,  is  one  of  degree 
only,  and  not  of  kind.  As  far  as  the  understanding 
of  the  uses  of  life  goes,  Isser  Jang,  for  all  its  sea- 
sonal cholers,  has  the  advantage  over  Chicago. 

Jowala  Singh  knows  and  takes  care  to  avoid  the 
three  or  four  ghoul-haunted  fields  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  village ;  but  he  is  not  urged  by  millions  of 
devils  to  run  about  all  day  in  the  sun  and  swear 
that  his  plowshares  are  the  best  in  the  Punjab ; 
nor  does  Purun  Dass  fly  forth  in  an  ekka  more 
than  once  or  twice  a  year,  and  he  knows,  on  a 
pinch,  how  to  use  the  railway  and  the  telegraph  as 


104  American  Notes 

well  as  any  son  of  Israel  in  Chicago.     But  this  is 
absurd. 

The  East  is  not  the  West,  and  these  men  must 
continue  to  deal  with  the  machinery  of  life,  and  to 
call  it  progress.  Their  very  preachers  dare  not  re- 
buke them.  They  gloss  over  the  hunting  for  money 
and  the  thrice-sharpened  bitterness  of  Adam's  curse, 
by  saying  that  such  things  dower  a  man  with  a 
larger  range  of  thoughts  and  higher  aspirations. 
They  do  not  say,  u  Free  yourselves  from  your  own 
slavery,"  but  rather,  "  If  you  can  possibly  manage 
it,  do  not  set  quite  so  much  store  on  the  things  of 
this  world." 

And  they  do  not  know  what  the  things  of  this 
world  are  ! 

I  went  off  to  see  cattle  killed,  by  way  of  clearing 
my  head,  which,  as  you  will  perceive,  was  getting 
muddled.  They  say  every  Englishman  goes  to  the 
Chicago  stock-yards.  You  shall  find  them  about 
six  miles  from  the  city;  and  once  having  seen 
them,  you  will  never  forget  the  sight. 

As  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  stretches  a  town- 
ship of  cattle-pens,  cunningly  divided  into  blocks, 
so  that  the  animals  of  any  pen  can  be  speedily 
driven  out  close  to  an  inclined  timber  path  which 
leads  to  an  elevated  covered  way  straddling 


Chicago  105 

high  above  the  pens.  These  viaducts  are  two- 
storied.  On  the  upper  story  tramp  the  doomed 
cattle,  stolidly  for  the  most  part.  On  the  lower, 
with  a  scuffling  of  sharp  hoofs  and  multitudinous 
yells,  run  the  pigs,  the  same  end  being  appointed 
for  each.  Thus  you  will  see  the  gangs  of  cattle 
waiting  their  turn  —  as  they  wait  sometimes  for 
days ;  and  they  need  not  be  distressed  by  the  sight 
of  their  fellows  running  about  in  the  fear  of  death. 
All  they  know  is  that  a  man  on  horseback  causes 
their  next-door  neighbors  to  move  by  means  of  a 
whip.  Certain  bars  and  fences  are  unshipped,  and 
behold  !  that  crowd  have  gone  up  the  mouth  of  a 
sloping  tunnel  and  return  no  more. 

It  is  different  with  the  pigs.  They  shriek  back 
the  news  of  the  exodus  to  their  friends,  and  a 
hundred  pens  skirl  responsive. 

It  was  to  the  pigs  I  first  addressed  myself. 
Selecting  a  viaduct  which  was  full  of  them,  as  I 
could  hear,  though  I  could  not  see,  I  marked  a 
sombre  building  whereto  it  ran,  and  went  there, 
not  unalarmed  by  stray  cattle  who  had  managed  to 
escape  from  their  proper  quarters.  A  pleasant 
smell  of  brine  warned  me  of  what  was  coming. 
I  entered  the  factory  and  found  it  full  of  pork  in 
barrels,  and  on  another  story  more  pork  un- 


io6  American  Notes 

barrelled,  and  in  a  huge  room  the  halves  of  swine, 
for  whose  behoof  great  lumps  of  ice  were  being 
pitched  in  at  the  window.  That  room  was  the 
mortuary  chamber  where  the  pigs  lay  for  a  little 
while  in  state  ere  they  began  their  progress  through 
such  passages  as  kings  may  sometimes  travel. 

Turning  a  corner,  and  not  noting  an  overhead 
arrangement  of  greased  rail,  wheel,  and  pulley,  I 
ran  into  the  arms  of  four  eviscerated  carcasses,  all 
pure  white  and  of  a  human  aspect,  pushed  by  a 
man  clad  in  vehement  red.  When  I  leaped  aside, 
the  floor  was  slippery  under  me.  Also  there  was 
a  flavor  of  farm-yard  in  my  nostrils  and  the  shout- 
ing of  a  multitude  in  my  ears.  But  there  was  no 
joy  in  that  shouting.  Twelve  men  stood  in  two 
lines  six  a  side.  Between  them  and  overhead  ran 
the  railway  of  death  that  had  nearly  shunted  me 
through  the  window.  Each  man  carried  a  knife, 
the  sleeves  of  his  shirt  were  cut  off  at  the  elbows, 
and  from  bosom  to  heel  he  was  blood-red. 

Beyond  this  perspective  was  a  column  of  steam, 
and  beyond  that  was  where  I  worked  my  awe- 
struck way,  unwilling  to  touch  beam  or  wall. 
The  atmosphere  was  stifling  as  a  night  in  the 
rains  by  reason  of  the  steam  and  the  crowd.  I 
climbed  to  the  beginning  of  things  and,  perched 


Chicago  1 07 

upon  a  narrow  beam,  overlooked  very  nearly  all 
the  pigs  ever  bred  in  Wisconsin.  They  had  just 
been  shot  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  viaduct  and 
huddled  together  in  a  large  pen.  Thence  they 
were  flicked  persuasively,  a  few  at  a  time,  into  a 
smaller  chamber,  and  there  a  man  fixed  tackle  on 
their  hinder  legs,  so  that  they  rose  in  the  air,  sus- 
pended from  the  railway  of  death. 

Oh  !  it  was  then  they  shrieked  and  called  on 
their  mothers,  and  made  promises  of  amendment, 
till  the  tackle-man  punted  them  in  their  backs  and 
they  slid  head  down  into  a  brick-floored  passage, 
very  like  a  big  kitchen  sink,  that  was  blood-red. 
There  awaited  them  a  red  man  with  a  knife, 
which  he  passed  jauntily  through  their  throats, 
and  the  full-voiced  shriek  became  a  splutter,  and 
then  a  fall  as  of  heavy  tropical  rain,  and  the  red 
man,  who  was  backed  against  the  passage-wall, 
you  will  understand,  stood  clear  of  the  wildly 
kicking  hoofs  and  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes, 
not  from  any  feeling  of  compassion,  but  because 
the  spurted  blood  was  in  his  eyes,  and  he  had 
barely  time  to  stick  the  next  arrival.  Then  that 
first  stuck  swine  dropped,  still  kicking,  into  a  great 
vat  of  boiling  water,  and  spoke  no  more  words, 
but  wallowed  in  obedience  to  some  unseen  ma- 


io8  American  Notes 

chinery,  and  presently  came  forth  at  the  lower  end 
of  the  vat,  and  was  heaved  on  the  blades  of  a 
blunt  paddle-wheel,  things  which  said  "  Hough, 
hough,  hough  !  "  and  skelped  all  the  hair  off  him, 
except  what  little  a  couple  of  men  with  knives 
could  remove. 

Then  he  was  again  hitched  by  the  heels  to  that 
said  railway,  and  passed  down  the  line  of  the 
twelve  men,  each  man  with  a  knife  —  losing  with 
each  man  a  certain  amount  of  his  individuality, 
which  was  taken  away  in  a  wheel-barrow,  and 
when  he  reached  the  last  man  he  was  very  beauti- 
ful to  behold,  but  excessively  unstuffed  and  limp. 
Preponderance  of  individuality  was  ever  a  bar  to 
foreign  travel.  That  pig  could  have  been  in  case 
to  visit  you  in  India  had  he  not  parted  with  some 
of  his  most  cherished  notions. 

The  dissecting  part  impressed  me  not  so  much 
as  the  slaying.  They  were  so  excessively  alive, 
these  pigs.  And  then,  they  were  so  excessively 
dead,  and  the  man  in  the  dripping,  clammy,  hot 
passage  did  not  seem  to  care,  and  ere  the  blood  of 
such  a  one  had  ceased  to  foam  on  the  floor,  such 
another  and  four  friends  with  him  had  shrieked  and 
died.  But  a  pig  is  only  the  unclean  animal  —  the 
forbidden  of  the  prophet. 


VI 

The  American  Army 


T  SHOULD  very  much  like  to  deliver  a  dis- 
-*•  sertation  on  the  American  army  and  the 
possibilities  of  its  extension.  You  see,  it  is  such 
a  beautiful  little  army,  and  the  dear  people  don't 
quite  understand  what  to  do  with  it.  The  theory 
is  that  it  is  an  instructional  nucleus  round  which 
the  militia  of  the  country  will  rally,  and  from 
which  they  will  get  a  stiffening  in  time  of  danger. 
Yet  other  people  consider  that  the  army  should 
be  built,  like  a  pair  of  lazy  tongs  —  on  the  prin- 
ciple of  elasticity  and  extension  —  so  that  in  time 
of  need  it  may  fill  up  its  skeleton  battalions  and 
empty  saddle  troops.  This  is  real  wisdom,  be- 
cause the  American  army,  as  at  present  consti- 
tuted, is  made  up  of:  — 

Twenty-five  regiments  infantry,  ten  companies 
each. 

Ten  regiments  cavalry,  twelve  companies  each. 


no  American  Notes 

Five  regiments  artillery,  twelve  companies  each. 

Now  there  is  a  notion  in  the  air  to  reorganize 
the  service  on  these  lines  :  — 

Eighteen  regiments  infantry  at  four  battalions, 
four  companies  each ;  third  battalion,  skeleton ; 
fourth  on  paper. 

Eight  regiments  cavalry  at  four  battalions,  four 
troops  each ;  third  battalion,  skeleton ;  fourth  on 
paper. 

Five  regiments  artillery  at  four  battalions,  four 
companies  each ;  third  battalion,  skeleton ;  fourth 
on  paper. 

Observe  the  beauty  of  this  business.  The  third 
battalion  will  have  its  officers,  but  no  men  ;  the 
fourth  will  probably  have  a  rendezvous  and  some 
equipment. 

It  is  not  contemplated  to  give  it  anything  more 
definite  at  present.  Assuming  the  regiments  to  be 
made  up  to  full  complement,  we  get  an  army  of 
fifty  thousand  men,  which  after  the  need  passes 
away  must  be  cut  down  fifty  per  cent,  to  the 
huge  delight  of  the  officers. 

The  military  needs  of  the  States  be  three  :  (a) 
Frontier  warfare,  an  employment  well  within  the 
grip  of  the  present  army  of  twenty-five  thousand, 
and  in  the  nature  of  things  growing  less  arduous 


The  American  Army  1 1 1 

year  by  year;  (b)  internal  riots  and  commotions 
which  rise  up  like  a  dust  devil,  whirl  furiously, 
and  die  out  long  before  the  authorities  at  Wash- 
ington could  begin  to  fill  up  even  the  third  skeleton 
battalions,  much  less  hunt  about  for  material  for 
the  fourth  ;  (c)  civil  war,  in  which,  as  the  case 
in  the  affair  of  the  North  and  South,  the  regular 
army  would  be  swamped  in  the  mass  of  militia 
and  armed  volunteers  that  would  turn  the  land 
into  a  hell. 

Yet  the  authorities  persist  in  regarding  an  ex- 
ternal war  as  a  thing  to  be  seriously  considered. 

The  Power  that  would  disembark  troops  on 
American  soil  would  be  capable  of  heaving  a 
shovelful  of  mud  into  the  Atlantic  in  the  hope  of 
filling  it  up.  Consequently,  the  authorities  are 
fascinated  with  the  idea  of  the  sliding  scale  or 
concertina  army.  This  is  an  hereditary  instinct, 
for  you  know  that  when  we  English  have  got 
together  two  companies,  one  machine  gun,  a  sick 
bullock,  forty  generals,  and  a  mass  of  W.  O. 
forms,  we  say  we  possess  "  an  army  corps  capable 
of  indefinite  extension." 

The  American  army  is  a  beautiful  little  army. 
Some  day,  when  all  the  Indians  are  happily  dead 
or  drunk,  it  ought  to  make  the  finest  scientific 


H2  American  Notes 

and  survey  corps  that  the  world  has  ever  seen;  it 
does  excellent  work  now,  but  there  is  this  defect 
in  its  nature  :  It  is  officered,  as  you  know,  from 
West  Point. 

The  mischief  of  it  is  that  West  Point  seems 
to  be  created  for  the  purpose  of  spreading  a  gen- 
eral knowledge  of  military  matters  among  the 
people.  A  boy  goes  up  to  that  institution,  gets 
his  pass,  and  returns  to  civil  life,  so  they  tell  me, 
with  a  dangerous  knowledge  that  he  is  a  suckling 
Von  Moltke,  and  may  apply  his  learning  when 
occasion  offers.  Given  trouble,  that  man  will 
be  a  nuisance,  because  he  is  a  hideously  versatile 
American,  to  begin  with,  as  cock-sure  of  himself 
as  a  man  can  be,  and  with  all  the  racial  disregard 
for  human  life  to  back  him,  through  any  demi- 
semi-professional  generalship. 

In  a  country  where,  as  the  records  of  the  daily 
papers  show,  men  engaged  in  a  conflict  with 
police  or  jails  are  all  too  ready  to  adopt  a  military 
formation  and  get  heavily  shot  in  a  sort  of  cheap, 
half-constructed  warfare,  instead  of  being  decently 
scared  by  the  appearance  of  the  military,  this  sort 
of  arrangement  does  not  seem  wise. 

The  bond  between  the  States  is  of  an  amazing 
tenuity.  So  long  as  they  do  not  absolutely  march 


The  American  Army          113 

into  the  District  of  Columbia,  sit  on  the  Washing- 
ton statues,  and  invent  a  flag  of  their  own,  they 
can  legislate,  lynch,  hunt  negroes  through  swamps, 
divorce,  railroad,  and  rampage  as  'much  as  ever 
they  choose.  They  do  not  need  knowledge  of 
their  own  military  strength  to  back  their  genial 
lawlessness. 

That  regular  army,  which  is  a  dear  little  army, 
should  be  kept  to  itself,  blooded  on  detachment 
duty,  turned  into  the  paths  of  science,  and  now 
and  again  assembled  at  feasts  of  Free  Masons,  and 
so  forth. 

It  is  too  tiny  to  be  a  political  power.  The 
immortal  wreck  of  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Repub- 
lic is  a  political  power  of  the  largest  and  most 
unblushing  description.  It  ought  not  to  help  to 
lay  the  foundations  of  an  amateur  military  power 
that  is  blind  and  irresponsible. 

By  great  good  luck  the  evil-minded  train, 
already  delayed  twelve  hours  by  a  burned  bridge, 
brought  me  to  the  city  on  a  Saturday  by  way  of 
that  valley  which  the  Mormons,  over  their  efforts, 
had  caused  to  blossom  like  the  rose.  Twelve 
hours  previously  I  had  entered  into  a  new  world 
where,  in  conversation,  every  one  was  either  a 
Mormon  or  a  Gentile.  It  is  not  seemly  for 
8 


114  American  Notes 

a  free  and  independent  citizen  to  dub  himself  a 
Gentile,  but  the  Mayor  of  Ogden  —  which  is  the 
Gentile  city  of  the  valley  —  told  me  that  there 
must  be  some  distinction  between  the  two  flocks. 

Long  before  the  fruit  orchards  of  Logan  or 
the  shining  levels  of  the  Salt  Lake  had  been 
reached,  that  mayor  —  himself  a  Gentile,  and  one 
renowned  for  his  dealings  with  the  Mormons  — 
told  me  that  the  great  question  of  the  existence  of 
the  power  within  the  power  was  being  gradually 
solved  by  the  ballot  and  by  education. 

All  the  beauty  of  the  valley  could  not  make 
me  forget  it.  And  the  valley  is  very  fair.  Bench 
after  bench  of  land,  flat  as  a  table  against  the 
flanks  of  the  ringing  hills,  marks  where  the  Salt 
Lake  rested  for  awhile  in  its  collapse  from  an 
inland  sea  to  a  lake  fifty  miles  long  and  thirty 
broad. 

There  are  the  makings  of  a  very  fine  creed 
about  Mormonism.  To  begin  with,  the  Church 
is  rather  more  absolute  than  that  of  Rome.  Drop 
the  polygamy  plank  in  the  platform,  but  on  the 
other  hand  deal  lightly  with  certain  forms  of 
excess  ;  keep  the  quality  of  the  recruit  down  to 
the  low  mental  level,  and  see  that  the  best  of  all 
the  agricultural  science  available  is  in  the  hands 


The  American  Army          1 1 5 

of  the  elders,  and  there  you  have  a  first-class 
engine  for  pioneer  work.  The  tawdry  mysticism 
and  the  borrowing  from  Freemasonry  serve  the 
low  caste  Swede  and  Dane,  the  Welshman  and 
the  Cornish  cotter,  just  as  well  as  a  highly  organ- 
ized heaven. 

Then  I  went  about  the  streets  and  peeped  into 
people's  front  windows,  and  the  decorations  upon 
the  tables  were  after  the  manner  of  the  year  1850. 
Main  Street  was  full  of  country  folk  from  the 
desert,  come  in  to  trade  with  the  Zion  Mercantile 
Co-operative  Institute.  The  Church,  I  fancy, 
looks  after  the  finances  of  this  thing,  and  it  con- 
sequently pays  good  dividends. 

The  faces  of  the  women  were  not  lovely.  In- 
deed, but  for  the  certainty  that  ugly  persons  are 
just  as  irrational  in  the  matter  of  undivided  love 
as  the  beautiful,  it  seems  that  polygamy  was  a 
blessed  institution  for  the  women,  and  that  only 
the  dread  threats  of  the  spiritual  power  could  drive 
the  hulking,  board-faced  men  into  it.  The  women 
wore  hideous  garments,  and  the  men  appeared  to 
be  tied  up  with  strings. 

They  would  market  all  that  afternoon,  and  on 
Sunday  go  to  the  praying-place.  I  tried  to  talk 
to  a  few  of  them,  but  they  spoke  strange  tongues, 


1 1 6  American  Notes 

and  stared  and  behaved  like  cows.  Yet  one 
woman,  and  not  an  altogether  ugly  one,  confided 
to  me  that  she  hated  the  idea  of  Salt  Lake  City 
being  turned  into  a  show-place  for  the  amusement 
of  the  Gentiles. 

"If  we  'ave  our  own  institutions,  that  ain't  no 
reason  why  people  should  come  'ere  and  stare  at 
us,  his  it  ?  " 

The  dropped  "  h  "  betrayed  her. 

"  And  when  did  you  leave  England  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Summer  of  '84.  I  am  Dorset,"  she  said. 
"The  Mormon  agent  was  very  good  to  us,  and 
we  was  very  poor.  Now  we  're  better  off —  my 
father,  an'  mother,  an'  me." 

"Then  you  like  the  State?" 

She  misunderstood  at  first. 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  livin'  in  the  state  of  polygamy. 
Not  me,  yet.  I  ain't  married.  I  like  where  I 
am.  I  've  got  things  o'  my  own  —  and  some 
land." 

"But  I  suppose  you  will — " 

"Not  me.  I  ain't  like  them  Swedes  an* 
Danes.  I  ain't  got  nothin'  to  say  for  or  against 
polygamy.  It 's  the  elders'  business,  an'  between 
you  an'  me,  I  don't  think  it 's  going  on  much 
longer.  You  '11  'ear  them  in  the  'ouse  to-morrer 


The  American  Army          117 

talkin'  as  if  it  was  spreadin'  all  over  America. 
The  Swedes,  they  think  it  his.  1  know  it 
his  n't."  , 

"  But  you  've  got  your  land  all  right  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes;  we've  got  our  land,  an'  we  never 
say  aught  against  polygamy,  o'  course  —  father, 
an'  mother,  an'  me." 

On  a  table-land  overlooking  all  the  city  stands 
the  United  States  garrison  of  infantry  and  artillery. 
The  State  of  Utah  can  do  nearly  anything  it 
pleases  until  that  much-to-be-desired  hour  when 
the  Gentile  vote  shall  quietly  swamp  out  Mor- 
mon ism  ;  but  the  garrison  is  kept  there  in  case  of 
accidents.  The  big,  shark-mouthed,  pig-eared, 
heavy-boned  farmers  sometimes  take  to  their  creed 
with  wildest  fanaticism,  and  in  past  years  have 
made  life  excessively  unpleasant  for  the  Gentile 
when  he  was  few  in  the  land.  But  to-day,  so  far 
from  killing  openly  or  secretly,  or  burning  Gen- 
tile farms,  it  is  all  the  Mormon  dare  do  to  feebly 
try  to  boycott  the  interloper.  His  journals  preach 
defiance  to  the  United  States  Government,  and  in 
the  Tabernacle  on  a  Sunday  the  preachers  follow 
suit. 

When  I  went  there,  the  place  was  full  of  people 
who  would  have  been  much  better  for  a  washing. 


1 1 8  American  Notes 

A  man  rose  up  and  told  them  tfiat  they  were  the 
chosen  of  God,  the  elect  of  Israel ;  that  they  were 
to  obey  their  priests,  and  that  there  was  a  good 
time  coming.  I  fancy  that  they  had  heard  all  this 
before  so  many  times  it  produced  no  impression 
whatever,  even  as  the  sublimest  mysteries  of 
another  faith  lose  salt  through  constant  iteration. 
They  breathed  heavily  through  their  noses,  and 
stared  straight  in  front  of  them  —  impassive  as 
flat  fish. 


VII 

America's    Defenceless    Coasts 


JUST  suppose  that  America  were  twenty  days 
distant  from  England.  Then  a  man  could 
study  its  customs  with  undivided  soul ;  but  being 
so  very  near  next  door,  he  goes  about  the  land 
with  one  eye  on  the  smoke  of  the  flesh-pots  of 
the  old  country  across  the  seas,  while  with  the 
other  he  squints  biliously  and  prejudicially  at  the 
alien. 

I  can  lay  my  hand  upon  my  sacred  heart  and 
affirm  that  up  to  to-day  I  have  never  taken  three 
consecutive  trips  by  rail  without  being  delayed  by 
an  accident.  That  it  was  an  accident  to  another 
train  makes  no  difference.  My  own  turn  may 
come  next. 

A  few  miles  from  peaceful,  pleasure-loving 
Lakewood  they  had  managed  to  upset  an  express 
goods  train  to  the  detriment  of  the  flimsy  perma- 
nent way;  and  thus  the  train  which  should  have 


120  American  Notes 

left  at  three  departed  at  seven  in  the  evening.  I 
was  not  angry.  I  was  scarcely  even  interested. 
When  an  American  train  starts  on  time  I  begin 
to  anticipate  disaster  —  a  visitation  for  such  good 
luck,  you  understand. 

Buffalo  is  a  large  village  of  a  quarter  of  a 
million  inhabitants,  situated  on  the  seashore,  which 
is  falsely  called  Lake  Erie.  It  is  a  peaceful  place, 
and  more  like  an  English  county  town  than  most 
of  its  friends. 

Once  clear  of  the  main  business  streets,  you 
launch  upon  miles  and  miles  of  asphalted  roads 
running  between  cottages  and  cut-stone  residences 
of  those  who  have  money  and  peace.  All  the 
Eastern  cities  own  this  fringe  of  elegance,  but 
except  in  Chicago  nowhere  is  the  fringe  deeper 
or  more  heavily  widened  than  in  Buffalo. 

The  American  will  go  to  a  bad  place  because 
he  cannot  speak  English,  and  is  proud  of  it ; 
but  he  knows  how  to  make  a  home  for  himself 
and  his  mate,  knows  how  to  keep  the  grass  green 
in  front  of  his  veranda,  and  how  to  fullest  use  the 
mechanism  of  life  —  hot  water,  gas,  good  bell- 
ropes,  telephones,  etc.  His  shops  sell  him  delight- 
ful household  fitments  at  very  moderate  rates,  and 
he  is  encompassed  with  all  manner  of  labor-saving 


America's  Defenceless  Coasts    121 

appliances.  This  does  not  prevent  his  wife  and 
his  daughter  working  themselves  to  death  over 
household  drudgery ;  but  the  intention  is  good. 

When  you  have  seen  the  outside  of  a  few 
hundred  thousand  of  these  homes  and  the  insides 
of  a  few  score,  you  begin  to  understand  why  the 
American  (the  respectable  one)  does  not  take  a 
deep  interest  in  what  they  call  "  politics,"  and 
why  he  is  so  vaguely  and  generally  proud  of  the 
country  that  enables  him  to  be  so  comfortable. 
How  can  the  owner  of  a  dainty  chalet,  with 
smoked-oak  furniture,  imitation  Venetian  tapestry 
curtains,  hot  and  cold  water  laid  on,  a  bed  of 
geraniums  and  hollyhocks,  a  baby  crawling  down 
the  veranda,  and  a  self-acting  twirly-whirly  hose 
gently  hissing  over  the  grass  in  the  balmy  dusk 
of  an  August  evening  —  how  can  such  a  man 
despair  of  the  Republic,  or  descend  into  the 
streets  on  voting  days  and  mix  cheerfully  with 
"the  boys"? 

No,  it  is  the  stranger  —  the  homeless  jackal  of 
a  stranger  —  whose  interest  in  the  country  is 
limited  to  his  hotel-bill  and  a  railway-ticket,  that 
can  run  from  Dan  to  Beersheba,  crying :  — 

"  All  is  barren  !  " 

Every  good  American  wants  a  home  —  a  pretty 


122  American  Notes 

house  and  a  little  piece  of  land  of  his  very  own ; 
and  every  other  good  American  seems  to  get  it. 

It  was  when  my  gigantic  intellect  was  grappling 
with  this  question  that  I  confirmed  a  discovery 
half  made  in  the  West.  The  natives  of  most 
classes  marry  young  —  absurdly  young.  One  of 
my  informants  —  not  the  twenty-two-year-old 
husband  I  met  on  Lake  Chautauqua  —  said  that 
from  twenty  to  twenty-four  was  about  the  usual 
time  for  this  folly.  And  when  I  asked  whether 
the  practice  was  confined  to  the  constitutionally 
improvident  classes,  he  said  "  No  "  very  quickly. 
He  said  it  was  a  general  custom,  and  nobody  saw 
anything  wrong  with  it. 

u  I  guess,  perhaps,  very  early  marriage  may 
account  for  a  good  deal  of  the  divorce,"  said  he, 
reflectively. 

Whereat  I  was  silent.  Their  marriages  and 
their  divorces  only  concern  these  people ;  and 
neither  I  travelling,  nor  you,  who  may  come  after, 
have  any  right  to  make  rude  remarks  about  them. 
Only  —  only  coming  from  a  land  where  a  man 
begins  to  lightly  turn  to  thoughts  of  love  not 
before  he  is  thirty,  I  own  that  playing  at  house- 
keeping before  that  age  rather  surprised  me.  Out 
in  the  West,  though,  they  marry,  boys  and  girls, 


America's  Defenceless  Coasts     123 

from  sixteen  upward,  and  I  have  met  more  than 
one  bride  of  fifteen  —  husband  aged  twenty. 

"  When  man  and  woman  are  agreed,  what  can 
the  Kazi  do  ?  " 

From  those  peaceful  homes,  and  the  envy  they 
inspire  (two  trunks  and  a  walking-stick  and  a  bit 
of  pine  forest  in  British  Columbia  are  not  satis- 
factory, any  way  you  look  at  them),  I  turned  me 
to  the  lake  front  of  Buffalo,  where  the  steamers 
bellow  to  the  grain  elevators,  and  the  locomotives 
yell  to  the  coal-shutes,  and  the  canal  barges  jostle 
the  lumber-raft  half  a  mile  long  as  it  snakes  across 
the  water  in  tow  of  a  launch,  and  earth,  and  sky, 
and  sea  alike  are  thick  with  smoke. 

In  the  old  days,  before  the  railway  ran  into  the 
city,  all  the  business  quarters  fringed  the  lake- 
shore  where  the  traffic  was  largest.  To-day  the 
business  quarters  have  gone  up-town  to  meet  the 
railroad;  the  lake  traffic  still  exists,  but  you  shall 
find  a  narrow  belt  of  red-brick  desolation,  broken 
windows,  gap-toothed  doors,  and  streets  where  the 
grass  grows  between  the  crowded  wharves  and  the 
bustling  city.  To  the  lake  front  comes  wheat 
from  Chicago,  lumber,  coal,  and  ore,  and  a  large 
trade  in  cheap  excursionists. 

It  was  my  felicity  to  catch  a  grain  steamer  and 


124  American  Notes 

an  elevator  emptying  that  same  steamer.  The 
steamer  might  have  been  two  thousand  tons 
burden.  She  was  laden  with  wheat  in  bulk ; 
from  stem  to  stern,  thirteen  feet  deep,  lay  the 
clean,  red  wheat.  There  was  no  twenty-five  per 
cent  dirt  admixture  about  it  at  all.  It  was 
wheat,  fit  for  the  grindstones  as  it  lay.  They 
manoeuvred  the  fore-hatch  of  that  steamer  directly 
under  an  elevator  —  a  house  of  red  tin  a  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  high.  Then  they  let  down  into  that 
fore-hatch  a  trunk  as  if  it  had  been  the  trunk  of 
an  elephant,  but  stiff,  because  it  was  a  pipe  of 
iron-champed  wood.  And  the  trunk  had  a  steel- 
shod  nose  to  it,  and  contained  an  endless  chain 
of  steel  buckets. 

Then  the  captain  swore,  raising  his  eyes  to 
heaven,  and  a  gruff  voice  answered  him  from  the 
place  he  swore  at,  and  certain  machinery,  also  in 
the  firmament,  began  to  clack,  and  the  glittering, 
steel-shod  nose  of  that  trunk  burrowed  into  the 
wheat,  and  the  wheat  quivered  and  sunk  upon  the 
instant  as  water  sinks  when  the  siphon  sucks, 
because  the  steel  buckets  within  the  trunk  were 
flying  upon  their  endless  round,  carrying  away 
each  its  appointed  morsel  of  wheat. 

The    elevator  was  a    Persian   well   wheel  —  a 


America's  Defenceless  Coasts    125 

wheel  squashed  out  thin  and  cased  in  a  pipe,  a 
wheel  driven  not  by  bullocks,  but  by  much  horse- 
power, licking  up  the  grain  at  the  rate  of  thou- 
sands of  bushels  the  hour.  And  the  wheat  sunk 
into  the  fore-hatch  while  a  man  looked  —  sunk 
till  the  brown  timbers  of  the  bulkheads  showed 
bare,  and  men  leaped  down  through  clouds  of 
golden  dust  and  shovelled  the  wheat  furiously 
round  the  nose  of  the  trunk,  and  got  a  steam- 
shovel  of  glittering  steel  and  made  that  shovel 
also,  till  there  remained  of  the  grain  not  more 
than  a  horse  leaves  in  the  fold  of  his  nose-bag. 

In  this  manner  do  they  handle  wheat  at  Buffalo. 
On  one  side  of  the  elevator  is  the  steamer,  on  the 
other  the  railway  track  ;  and  the  wheat  is  loaded 
into  the  cars  in  bulk.  Wah  !  wah  !  God  is  great, 
and  I  do  not  think  He  ever  intended  Gar  Sahai 
or  Luckman  Narain  to  supply  England  with  her 
wheat.  India  can  cut  in  not  without  profit  to 
herself  when  her  harvest  is  good  and  the  Ameri- 
can yield  poor;  but  this  very  big  country  can, 
upon  the  average,  supply  the  earth  with  all  the 
beef  and  bread  that  is  required. 

A  man  in  the  train  said  to  me :  — 

"  We  kin  feed  all  the  earth,  jest  as  easily  as  we 
kin  whip  all  the  earth." 


1 26  American  Notes 

Now  the  second  statement  is  as  false  as  the  first 
is  true.  One  of  these  days  the  respectable  Re- 
public will  find  this  out. 

Unfortunately  we,  the  English,  will  never  be 
the  people  to  teach  her ;  because  she  is  a  char- 
tered libertine  allowed  to  say  and  do  anything  she 
likes,  from  demanding  the  head  of  the  empress  in 
an  editorial  waste-basket,  to  chevying  Canadian 
schooners  up  and  down  the  Alaska  Seas.  It  is 
perfectly  impossible  to  go  to  war  with  these  people, 
whatever  they  may  do. 

They  are  much  too  nice,  in  the  first  place,  and 
in  the  second,  it  would  throw  out  all  the  passenger 
traffic  of  the  Atlantic,  and  upset  the  financial 
arrangements  of  the  English  syndicates  who  have 
invested  their  money  in  breweries,  railways,  and 
the  like,  and  in  the  third,  it's  not  to  be  done. 
Everybody  knows  that,  and  no  one  better  than 
the  American. 

Yet  there  are  other  powers  who  are  not  "  ohai 
band  "  (of  the  brotherhood)  —  China,  for  instance. 
Try  to  believe  an  irresponsible  writer  when  he 
assures  you  that  China's  fleet  to-day,  if  properly 
manned,  could  waft  the  entire  American  navy  out 
of  the  water  and  into  the  blue.  The  big,  fat 
Republic  that  is  afraid  of  nothing,  because  nothing 


America's  Defenceless  Coasts     127 

up  to  the  present  dace  has  happened  to  make  her 
afraid,  is  as  unprotected  as  a  jelly-fish.  Not 
internally,  of  course  —  it  would  be  madness  for 
any  Power  to  throw  men  into  America ;  they 
would  die  —  but  as  far  as  regards  coast  defence. 

From  five  miles  out  at  sea  (I  have  seen  a  test 
of  her  u  fortified  "  ports)  a  ship  of  the  power  of 
H.  M.  S.  "  Collingwood  "  (they  have  n't  run  her 
on  a  rock  yet)  would  wipe  out  any  or  every  town 
from  San  Francisco  to  Long  Branch ;  and  three 
first-class  ironclads  would  account  for  New  York, 
Bartholdi's  Statue  and  all. 

Reflect  on  this.  'T  would  be  "  Pay  up  or  go 
up "  round  the  entire  coast  of  the  United 
States.  To  this  furiously  answers  the  patriotic 
American  :  — 

"  We  should  not  pay.  We  should  invent  a 
Columbiad  in  Pittsburg  or —  or  anywhere  else,  and 
blow  any  outsider  into  h — 1." 

They  might  invent.  They  might  lay  waste 
their  cities  and  retire  inland,  for  they  can  subsist 
entirely  on  their  own  produce.  Meantime,  in  a 
war  waged  the  only  way  it  could  be  waged  by  an 
unscrupulous  Power,  their  coast  cities  and  their 
dock-yards  would  be  ashes.  They  could  construct 
their  navy  inland  if  they  liked,  but  you  could  never 


128  American  Notes 

bring  a  ship  down  to  the  water-ways,  as  they 
stand  now. 

They  could  not,  with  an  ordinary  water  patrol, 
despatch  one  regiment  of  men  six  miles  across  the 
seas.  There  would  be  about  five  million  exces- 
sively angry,  armed  men  pent  up  within  American 
limits.  These  men  would  require  ships  to  get 
themselves  afloat.  The  country  has  no  such 
ships,  and  until  the  ships  were  built  New  York 
need  not  be  allowed  a  single-wheeled  carriage 
within  her  limits. 

Behold  now  the  glorious  condition  of  this  Re- 
public which  has  no  fear.  There  is  ransom  and 
loot  past  the  counting  of  man  on  her  seaboard 
alone  —  plunder  that  would  enrich  a  nation  —  and 
she  has  neither  a  navy  nor  half  a  dozen  first-class 
ports  to  guard  the  whole.  No  man  catches  a 
snake  by  the  tail,  because  the  creature  will  sting ; 
but  you  can  build  a  fire  around  a  snake  that  will 
make  it  squirm. 

The  country  is  supposed  to  be  building  a  navy 
now.  When  the  ships  are  completed  her  alliance 
will  be  worth  having  —  if  the  alliance  of  any 
republic  can  be  relied  upon.  For  the  next  three 
years  she  can  be  hurt,  and  badly  hurt.  Pity  it  is 
that  she  is  of  our  own  blood,  looking  at  the  matter 


America's  Defenceless  Coasts    129 

from  a  Pindarris  point  of  view.  Dog  cannot  eat 
dog. 

These  sinful  reflections  were  prompted  by  the 
sight  of  the  beautifully  unprotected  condition  of 
Buffalo  —  a  city  that  could  be  made  to  pay  up 
five  million  dollars  without  feeling  it.  There  are 
her  companies  of  infantry  in  a  sort  of  port  there. 
A  gun-boat  brought  over  in  pieces  from  Niagara 
could  get  the  money  and  get  away  before  she  could 
be  caught,  while  an  unarmored  gun-boat  guarding 
Toronto  could  ravage  the  towns  on  the  lakes. 
When  one  hears  so  much  of  the  nation  that  can 
whip  the  earth,  it  is,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  surpris- 
ing to  find  her  so  temptingly  spankable. 

The  average  American  citizen  seems  to  have  a 
notion  that  any  Power  engaged  in  strife  with  the 
Star  Spangled  Banner  will  disembark  men  from 
flat-bottomed  boats  on  a  convenient  beach  for  the 
purpose  of  being  shot  down  by  local  militia.  In 
his  own  simple  phraseology  :  — 

u  Not  by  a  darned  sight.     No,  sir." 

Ransom  at  long  range  will  be  about  the  size  of 
it —  cash  or  crash. 

Let  us  revisit  calmer  scenes. 

In  the  heart  of  Buffalo  there  stands  a  magnificent 
building  which  the  population  do  innocently  style 
9 


130  American  Notes 

a  music-hall.  Everybody  comes  here  of  evenings 
to  sit  around  little  tables  and  listen  to  a  first-class 
orchestra.  The  place  is  something  like  the  Gaiety 
Theatre  at  Simla,  enlarged  twenty  times.  The 
"  Light  Brigade  "  of  Buffalo  occupy  the  boxes 
and  the  stage,  "  as  it  was  at  Simla  in  the  days  of 
old,"  and  the  others  sit  in  the  parquet.  Here  I 
went  with  a  friend  —  poor  or  boor  is  the  man  who 
cannot  pick  up  a  friend  for  a  season  in  America  — 
and  here  was  shown  the  really  smart  folk  of  the 
city.  I  grieve  to  say  I  laughed,  because  when  an 
American  wishes  to  be  correct  he  sets  himself  to 
imitate  the  Englishman.  This  he  does  vilely,  and 
earns  not  only  the  contempt  of  his  brethren,  but 
the  amused  scorn  of  the  Briton. 

I  saw  one  man  who  was  pointed  out  to  me  as 
being  the  glass  of  fashion  hereabouts.  He  was 
aggressively  English  in  his  get-up.  From  eye- 
glass to  trouser-hem  the  illusion  was  perfect,  but 
—  he  wore  with  evening-dress  buttoned  boots 
with  brown  cloth  tops !  Not  till  I  wandered 
about  this  land  did  I  understand  why  the  comic 
papers  belabor  the  Anglomaniac. 

Certain  young  men  of  the  more  idiotic  sort 
launch  into  dog-carts  and  raiment  of  English  cut, 
and  here  in  Buffalo  they  play  polo  at  four  in  the 


America's  Defenceless  Coasts     131 

afternoon.  I  saw  three  youths  come  down  to  the 
polo-ground  faultlessly  attired  for  the  game  and 
mounted  on  their  best  ponies.  Expecting  a  game, 
I  lingered ;  but  I  was  mistaken.  These  three 
shining  ones  with  the  very  new  yellow  hide  boots 
and  the  red  silk  sashes  had  assembled  themselves 
for  the  purpose  of  knocking  the  ball  about.  They 
smote  with  great  solemnity  up  and  down  the 
grounds,  while  the  little  boys  looked  on.  When 
they  trotted,  which  was  not  seldom,  they  rose 
and  sunk  in  their  stirrups  with  a  conscien- 
tiousness that  cried  out  "  Riding-school !  "  from 
afar. 

Other  young  men  in  the  park  were  riding  after 
the  English  manner,  in  neatly  cut  riding-trousers 
and  light  saddles.  Fate  in  derision  had  made  each 
youth  bedizen  his  animal  with  a  checkered  enam- 
elled leather  brow-band  visible  half  a  mile  away  — 
a  black-and-white  checkered  brow-band !  They 
can't  do  it,  any  more  than  an  Englishman,  by 
taking  cold,  can  add  that  indescribable  nasal  twang 
to  his  orchestra. 

The  other  sight  of  the  evening  was  a  horror. 
The  little  tragedy  played  itself  out  at  a  neighboring 
table  where  two  very  young  men  and  two  very 


132  American  Notes 

young  women  were  sitting.  It  did  not  strike  me 
till  far  into  the  evening  that  the  pimply  young 
reprobates  were  making  the  girls  drunk.  They 
gave  them  red  wine  and  then  white,  and  the  voices 
rose  slightly  with  the  maidens'  cheek  flushes.  I 
watched,  wishing  to  stay,  and  the  youths  drank  till 
their  speech  thickened  and  their  eye-balls  grew 
watery.  It  was  sickening  to  see,  because  I  knew 
what  was  going  to  happen.  My  friend  eyed  the 
group,  and  said  :  — 

"  Maybe  they  're  children  of  respectable  people. 
I  hardly  think,  thoifgh,  they'd  be  allowed  out 
without  any  better  escort  than  these  boys.  And  yet 
the  place  is  a  place  where  every  one  comes,  as  you 
see.  They  may  be  Little  Immoralities  —  in  which 
case  they  would  n't  be  so  hopelessly  overcome 
with  two  glasses  of  wine.  They  may  be  — " 

Whatever  they  were  they  got  indubitably  drunk 
—  there  in  that  lovely  hall,  surrounded  by  the  best 
of  Buffalo  society.  One  could  do  nothing  except 
invoke  the  judgment  of  Heaven  on  the  two  boys, 
themselves  half  sick  with  liquor.  At  the  close 
of  the  performance  the  quieter  maiden  laughed 
vacantly  and  protested  she  could  n't  keep  her  feet. 
The  four  linked  arms,  and  staggering,  flickered 


America's  Defenceless  Coasts    133 

out  into  the  street  —  drunk,  gentlemen  and  ladies, 
as  Davy's  swine,  drunk  as  lords !  They  dis- 
appeared down  a  side  avenue,  but  I  could  hear 
their  laughter  long  after  they  were  out  of  sight. 

And  they  were  all  four  children  of  sixteen  and 
seventeen.  Then,  recanting  previous  opinions,  I 
became  a  prohibitionist.  Better  it  is  that  a  man 
should  go  without  his  beer  in  public  places,  and 
content  himself  with  swearing  at  the  narrow- 
mindedness  of  the  majority ;  better  it  is  to  poison 
the  inside  with  very  vile  temperance  drinks,  and  to 
buy  lager  furtively  at  back-doors,  than  to  bring 
temptation  to  the  lips  of  young  fools  such  as  the 
four  I  had  seen.  I  understand  now  why  the 
preachers  rage  against  drink.  I  have  said  :  "  There 
is  no  harm  in  it,  taken  moderately ; "  and  yet  my 
own  demand  for  beer  helped  directly  to  send  those 
two  girls  reeling  down  the  dark  street  to  —  God 
alone  knows  what  end. 

If  liquor  is  worth  drinking,  it  is  worth  taking  a 
little  trouble  to  come  at  —  such  trouble  as  a  man 
will  undergo  to  compass  his  own  desires.  It  is 
not  good  that  we  should  let  it  lie  before  the  eyes  of 
children,  and  I  have  been  a  fool  in  writing  to  the 
contrary.  Very  sorry  for  myself,  I  sought  a  hotel, 


134  American  Notes 

and  found  in  the  hall  a  reporter  who  wished  to 
know  what  I  thought  of  the  country.  Him  I  lured 
into  conversation  about  his  own  profession,  and 
from  him  gained  much  that  confirmed  me  in  my 
views  of  the  grinding  tyranny  of  that  thing  which 
they  call  the  Press  here.  Thus  :  — 

I  —  But  you  talk  about  interviewing  people 
whether  they  like  it  or  not.  Have  you  no  bounds 
beyond  which  even  your  indecent  curiosity  must 
not  go  ? 

HE  —  I  have  n't  struck  'em  yet.  What  do  you 
think  of  interviewing  a  widow  two  hours  after  her 
husband's  death,  to  get  her  version  of  his  life  ? 

I  —  I  think  that  is  the  work  of  a  ghoul.  Must 
the  people  have  no  privacy  ? 

HE —  There  is  no  domestic  privacy  in  America. 
If  there  was,  what  the  deuce  would  the  papers  do  ? 
See  here.  Some  time  ago  I  had  an  assignment  to 
write  up  the  floral  tributes  when  a  prominent 
citizen  had  died. 

I  —  Translate,  please;  I  do  not  understand 
your  pagan  rites  and  ceremonies. 

HE  —  I  was  ordered  by  the  office  to  describe 
the  flowers,  and  wreaths,  and  so  on,  that  had  been 
sent  to  a  dead  man's  funeral.  Well,  I  went  to  the 


America's  Defenceless  Coasts    135 

house.  There  was  no  one  there  to  stop  me,  so  I 
yanked  the  tinkler  —  pulled  the  bell  —  and  drifted 
into  the  ,  room  where  the  corpse  lay  all  among  the 
roses  and  smilax.  I  whipped  out  my  note-book 
and  pawed  around  among  the  floral  tributes,  turn- 
ing up  the  tickets  on  the  wreaths  and  seeing  who 
had  sent  them.  In  the  middle  of  this  I  heard 
some  one  saying :  "  Please,  oh,  please !  "  behind 
me,  and  there  stood  the  daughter  of  the  house, 
just  bathed  in  tears  — 

I  —  You  unmitigated  brute! 

HE  —  Pretty  much  what  I  felt  myself.  "  I  'm 
very  sorry,  miss,"  I  said,  "  to  intrude  on  the  pri- 
vacy of  your  grief.  Trust  me,  I  shall  make  it  as 
little  painful  as  possible." 

I  —  But  by  what  conceivable  right  did  you 
outrage  — 

HE  —  Hold  your  horses.  I  'm  telling  you. 
Well,  she  did  n't  want  me  in  the  house  at  all,  and 
between  her  sobs  fairly  waved  me  away.  I  had 
half  the  tributes  described,  though,  and  the  balance 
I  did  partly  on  the  steps  when  the  stiff  'un  came 
out,  and  partly  in  the  church.  The  preacher  gave 
the  sermon.  That  was  n't  my  assignment.  I 
skipped  about  among  the  floral  tributes  while  he 


136  American  Notes 

was  talking.  I  could  have  made  no  excuse  if  I 
had  gone  back  to  the  office  and  said  that  a  pretty 
girl's  sobs  had  stopped  me  obeying  orders.  I  had 
to  do  it.  What  do  you  think  of  it  all  ? 

I  (slowly)  —  Do  you  want  to  know  ? 

HE  (with  his  note-book  ready)  —  Of  course. 
How  do  you  regard  it  ? 

I  —  It  makes  me  regard  your  interesting  nation 
with  the  same  shuddering  curiosity  that  I  should 
bestow  on  a  Pappan  cannibal  chewing  the  scalp 
off  his  mother's  skull.  Does  that  convey  any  idea 
to  your  mind?  It  makes  me  regard  the  whole 
pack  of  you  as  heathens  —  real  heathens  —  not  the 
sort  you  send  missions  to — creatures  of  another 
flesh  and  blood.  You  ought  to  have  been  shot, 
not  dead,  but  through  the  stomach,  for  your  share 
in  the  scandalous  business,  and  the  thing  you  call 
your  newspaper  ought  to  have  been  sacked  by  the 
mob,  and  the  managing  proprietor  hanged. 

HE  —  From  which,  I  suppose  you  have  nothing 
of  that  kind  in  your  country  ? 

Oh !  "  Pioneer,"  venerable  "  Pioneer,"  and 
you  not  less  honest  press  of  India,  who  are  occa- 
sionally dull  but  never  blackguardly,  what  could  I 
say  ?  A  mere  u  No,"  shouted  never  so  loudly, 


America's  Defenceless  Coasts     137 

would  not  have  met  the  needs  of  the  case.     I  said 
no  word. 

The  reporter  went  away,  and  I  took  a  train  for 
Niagara  Falls,  which  are  twenty-two  miles  distant 
from  this  bad  town,  where  girls  get  drunk  of  nights 
and  reporters  trample  on  corpses  in  the  drawing- 
rooms  of  the  brave  and  the  free  ! 


